


Last ones out

by rainow



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Multi, They're in Russia, a lot of sex probably, huzzah, i mean what more could you want, idk what else to tag man, its complicated, jack harkness is there, set after s12, slow burn but it's complicated?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainow/pseuds/rainow
Summary: After the s12 finale, the Doctor skips going back to the fam and instead looks for the Master, somehow ending up in 18th-century Russia just as the events that will lead Catherine the Great to power are set in motion.
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor | Theta Sigma/The Master | Koschei (Doctor Who: Academy Era), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 132





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first "real" fic opposed to just oneshots, so i hope you like it and feedback is very much appreciated! let me know if you want to read on :))  
> this was inspired by tumblr user xenteaart's wonderful hc/comic  
> https://xenteaart.tumblr.com/post/615909885606068224/okayyyy-i-decided-to-make-a-short-angsty-hc  
> (i've had this fic in mind for a long time but with the inspiration of xenteaart and an alien diner looking something like this: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1b/84/25/1b8425ced61950f48dad12a1cab5605d.jpg , the start of this fic was born :) )

“You’ve become too reckless, Doc,” Jack Harkness tells her over a drink in a desolated diner on the outskirts of the universe.

Ever since Gallifrey and the little thing with the death particle, she'd spent her time looking everywhere and anywhere for the Master. She knows she shouldn't travel alone, but this is between her and him. Someone important to her once said that she was bad at travelling alone, and she guesses that's fair - she does often end up lost inside her head, but if he's not here, she would be actually, properly lost.

It’s been several years. Decades, actually. Enough to feel like an eternity. And she's lived through eternities. Still… nothing.

It’s been running. A lot of running. _Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_. She’s barely stopped to catch her breath. She’d spent some time carding through old friends up to no good, anyone who might be able to give her an inclination to any possible whereabout of his. Sontarans, the 456, Cybermen, _whoelsewhoelsewhoelse, someone has to know, fuck, SOMEONEKNOWS i know SOMEONE has to know where he is_ , Zygons, Sea Devils, Arceteenians, Nestene, and _nothing_.

She even visited Krop Tor to bargain with the Beast, and still… nothing. She just found herself on a lonely dead planet, orbiting that wretched black hole. _Kind of ironic_ , she thinks, _I can’t make a deal with the closest thing to the actual devil_.

“What?” She scoffs at Jack, nose all scrunched and hands waving in a dismissive wave. “Me? Reckless? No. Pssht. You can’t meet anyone more responsible than me. I’m perfectly fantastic, thank you. Stellar, actually.”

Jack just stares at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“You can hear yourself, right?”

She purses her lips together and stares intently down at her feet beneath the table, her fingers pressing har against the cold glass in her hands. She decides to take a loud, slurping sip to avoid answering.

“Doctor. I’m worried, that’s all,” he says, with a lot of earnest for a con man. “Do you _miss_ him?”

She halts. Suddenly she feels a little bit sick _, that’s not why_ , but she just swallows and keeps on not looking at him. _Keepgoingkeepgoing_. She shrugs her shoulders and blows at the hair falling in her face, _damnit_ , she hates how it keeps getting in front of her eyes all the time, she hasn’t cut it since, well… It’s been a while.

He keeps looking at her like he expects an answer, tilting his head slightly forwards, like that’s going to make her admit something. She angrily pushes her hair behind her ears and stares at him begrudgingly. “You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“I just don’t understand _why_ you would – uh, why would you look for him?”

“Stars, Jack, you’re so American.”

“But how can you keep doing it, keep going back to him after all this time, after all he’s done–”

“Of course you don’t understand!” She suddenly erupts, throwing her hands in the air, that bitter tone in her voice scorching the space between them. “You don’t know what it’s bloody like – you don’t know what it’s like to be the absolute last person left in the universe. Actually, I don’t even know if I am a person, anymore. _Jesus_ , Jack. At least I had him.”

“Right, okay. I’m sorry,” he says silently, blowing out air through his mouth and looking away.

The Doctor doesn’t like to pry, but she can feel the edges of his sympathy and unease roll off him like waves, so she stops listening when he looks her directly in the eyes, just in case she’s going to catch something she doesn’t want to overhear. She knows he’s lost a lot, too. but she chooses not to comment on it and scratches the top of her head to look unsuspicious and tugs some strands of hair that fell loose back behind her ear again. “Yeah. Me too.”

They look at each other for a little while, each of them searching the other’s face for the truth. Jack smiles at her. “Another drink?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got places to be, you know, I have a lot of things to do. I’m a busy man. Woman. Whatever,” she shrugs with another dismissive wave and stands up, patting a hand on the table. She watches his smile fade and throws a plastered smile in there to seal the deal, all teeth and leaning her entire body into it, like she used to. “Bye, then.”

“Bye, Doc. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You know I do, Jack. I’ll catch you later.”

“Just – you might not find him, you know. Don’t do anything stupid.”

She freezes a little, fingers curling around the edge of the table. She can’t bear to look at him, she just smiles again, rushed and shaking, and swallows thickly, _run_ , _justgojustgojustgo, run, keep running, doctor_.

With that she storms out, pushing the doors open with haste and lets the cold night air flood her system as she wipes the tears away from her eyes and heads to where her TARDIS is parked outside the diner, leaving Jack alone with their empty glasses and the bill. She takes a deep breath and kicks some rocks in her path, _fuck_ , _keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_.

Suddenly her hands are pulling at the TARDIS and hurriedly opening the blue doors before shutting them behind her with an echo in the empty control room. She staggers back against the doors and hits them with a heavy body, slowly sliding down towards the floor. Tons of sticky notes cover the console and the walls: _where are u? find ~~master~~ koschei, try places we’ve been, find him, WHERE ARE YOU, findhimfindhimfindhimfindhim, please, WHEREAREUWHEREAREUWHEREAREU, ???, find him, maybe he’s in the tardis, ~~earth adipose 3 ood planet krop tor yxxiatl7~~ FUCK, find koschei, cyber empire, where are you kosch, try gallifrey again._

She closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to look at them. She’s been everywhere. It’s been so long hope is starting to fade with the sinking feeling between her hearts. Her hands tug her knees to her chest with a sigh, she hates Jack, she hates how he always has to be her _friend_ and how he has to say things like _that_ when he has no idea what’s going on at all.

_What if he’s–_

She breathes in sharply through her nose and leans her head back against the door. He can’t be. He always makes it. He’s an absolute pain in the arse to deal with all the time, but when it comes down to it, she remembers when she wore pinstripes and told him that she wonders what she’d be, without him. It’s always been them.

Something Jack hinted at once still pokes her insides. That all of this is just to keep busy, just chasing a lie through the universe. She scowled at him and told him it runs deeper than that, far deeper than he would ever be able to understand. They made each other, running through all that red grass. But it’s getting harder and harder to believe yourself when you’ve been lying all your lives.

_What if he’s – nonononono – but what if, Doctor?_ She swallows down the lump in her throat. _What if it’s true, Doctor? What if you’re alone now, Doctor? What if there’s actually just you left, and you’re alonealonealonealonealone–_

“ _SHUT UP!!!_ ” She screams to a TARDIS just as empty as her, hitting her hand into the hard wall. She uses it for leverage to get up, staggering towards the console with tears in her eyes. She tears down a few sticky notes with harsh movements, throwing them down at the floor as she starts pushing buttons and flicking levers. The TARDIS hisses at her, chiming protests through the room, but the Doctor doesn't even flinch at her reaction to their destination. It takes slightly longer than usual to land, and although she doesn't blame the old girl as she walks across the room and pulls her jacket tighter over her shoulders, she slams the doors behind her as she sets foot back on Skaro.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now we're getting started :)) let me know what you think!!

The Doctor’s eyes reflect dirty, burning red. Being back on Skaro sends a shiver down her spine, like she can feel the bloodshed of entire planet seep up through her boots. Maybe she can. She’s not a stranger to this planet, but it certainly doesn’t even come close to her top-ten favourite planetary destinations, not even a little bit. The air has a sharp metallic twang, it itches on her tongue and her noses scrunches up automatically as soon as she notices the smell. It sticks to the insides of her nostrils and clings to her. It smells like war. Robotic voices chimes in the distance. Screams echoes. The sounds of people being shepherded to their death rings through the ruins she landed in, and she feels sick to her stomach. She wants to leave. But something inside her knows she can’t. This might be her last chance.

 _You said that last time, too, Doctor_ , that voice says. _And the time before that._

“Shut up,” she growls, and takes a deep breath of foul air. She gives her TARDIS a comforting pat against the old blue wood. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she says silently, barely a whisper, and sets foot towards the Dalek prison camp her informant should be in.

Jack said it would be suicide to go. _No one gets out of those camps._ And that’s the point, she wanted to say, and she almost did, but then she remembered Jack probably can’t communicate telepathically. She just smiled instead, one of those mad grins with a lot of teeth that worked wonders at convincing humans she knew what she was doing. _Exactly. That’s why it should be really easy getting in._

Her sonic gives of vibrations for the locations she’s headed. She sneaks along the red rocks and something about it almost feels wrong, as opposed to her more usual approach of barging in the front door with fireworks and a well-crafted pun. _If you don’t do this, Doctor, he’s gone_ , that voice says, even louder, and she scowls and hits the side of her head. “Not now,” she hisses through her teeth as she reaches the fenced outskirts of the camp, but abruptly holds her breath as she hears approaching footsteps. They’re far away, of course, all of her senses are on high alert – but the human Dalek guards’ weapons sensors are nasty little things. She quickly draws her hood up to cover her face and hides against the red stone. It’s cold and hard through her thin coat. She feels nauseous. This whole planet is making her head spin. She can feel her hearts beating faster and the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she doesn’t really care about the increasing fear in her system.

 _Maybe it’s a trap, Doctor_ , the voice says, velvety and suave. She frowns. _I don’t care. Not now. Of course it’s a trap. Or maybe this is her only ch- Actually, it definitely, properly has to be a trap. No one can send a message from inside a Dalek camp. Right?_ It doesn’t take long before the guards have passed, leaving her there in the dark, back pressed against the red rock. _Okay. Breatheinbreatheoutbreathein. Onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour. Come on, Doctor. Okayokayokay. Let’s do this._

She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she sprints for the fence. She bites back a shout of pain as her hands wrap around the metal. _Of course, it’s electrified, Doctor. Probably enough to kill a human. Stars, you’re stupid._ She swallows back the tears rushing to greet her eyes and keeps climbing with heavy breaths.

Just as she reaches the top and is about to jump down, her coat snags on one of the wires, compromising her fall and making her body hit the ground with a loud thud. Someone starts shouting, but she can’t really make out what they’re saying, her head is spinning, and her vision blurred. She tries to get up on her feet, she really does, but only manages to bury her hands in the cold damp earth to steady her upper body slightly above the ground before crashing right back down again. She can feel them get closer and closer and she can feel the rotation of the planet and how its solar system is falling through the universe and _run Doctor run run run run_ but she can’t move and they’re coming and the grey grass tickles her face and they’re here and suddenly hands are taking hold of her upper arms and forcing her to her feet.

She has to blink a few times before her vision stars to clear and suddenly the blaring lights of the prison camp illuminates her fantastic choice to climb right into where the sentries patrol the fence. _Fuck._

“Now, well, boys, let’s look on the upside – it _is_ quite funny that I would happen to fall down right here,” she starts, her mouth going on and on as her brains races. It doesn’t appear that they understand her. Or hear her. _That’s weird_ , she thinks, furrowing her brows as they drag her along the path to some sort of crowded gathering, she tries to struggle against their grip, but they only rush her along more roughly.

_Wait._

They seem to be dragging her towards the podium.

_Oh no._

“No, nonononono, no, _wait_ , I wasn’t trying to get _out_ , actually, funny misunderstanding, I was trying to get _in!_ ” She shouts at them, trying to shake them off, but to no avail. “ _No,_ don’t-“ she’s being shoved at the stairs, the ground slips under her and she crashes into concrete, she quickly tries to scramble back up to her feet and run but as she does so, she catches a glimpse of someone in the crowd, someone in a dark hood staring directly at her, and her entire body freezes. The guards push her again, and her body is limp as they push her to the middle of the stage and force her down to her knees. Her mouth opens in disbelief, slowly. She can’t take her eyes of him, not even when they pull out the gun. The mouth of it is ice-cold against the skin of her neck. But she can’t move.

It’s like the entirety of reality is happening a little out of sync, and she can only watch him as he pulls out a weapon from underneath the hood and then two gunshots ring through the air and she feels the pain spread through her entire body until the darkness of the night sky takes over everything and all turns black.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made some small changes to these early chapters, but im really hoping this is picking up now! lmk if you like it! <33

Everything after that is kind of a blur, really. The two gunshots are still quite clear - the first shot hit the guard just as he pulled the trigger, sending him off balance as she turned around, causing the second shot fired that night to hit her beneath her left lung, instead of the more fatal spot her executioner aimed for. She doesn’t really remember much about how she screamed out in pain and fell towards the ground, seeing the Master running towards the podium and lifting her up as she screams out again. She mostly remember thinking about how nasty those Dalek-engineered weapons of this century are, that they don’t technically shoot bullets, but rather small concentrated energy cores that keep burning inside of your flesh.

And everything after that must have happened fairly quickly, because suddenly she’s handcuffed to a metal bar in a TARDIS med-bay, dark-orange blood covering her clothes and hands as she stares at the surgical instruments slung on a table by the Master, along with the bullet also covered in blood.

Well, small concentrated energy core, but whatever.

She keeps staring at her hand for a little while. Everything feels weird and off-balance, and there’s something in the pit of her stomach that gravitates towards- no. It can’t be real. Not yet. She looks at the bloodstains on her hands, sees where it’s crusting under her nails and between her fingers. Her nose scrunches in disgust. That’s going to be hard to get off. _Stars, it hurts._ Her hand’s starting to shake. She’s unsettled by the lack of response from her body, usually she’d be able to localise and track anything, but everything just hurts now. _Hurts hurts hurts hurts aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?_

She’s startled by the sudden noise of the Master throwing another metal object down on the table, this one free for blood. _Wait, why no-_

The pain shoots through her body in waves. Every reaction in her body appears slowed, she curses, S _TARS, it hurts, koscheikoscheikoschei, everythings hurts it hurts koschei hurts fuck._

He drags a chair closer and sits down in front of her. It’s hard to breathe. Strands of blonde hair fall in her face and some cling to her forehead with sweat and dirt. They both feel it, the push and pull of each other, like standing at the top of the tallest building in the universe and there it is – the urge to jump into darkness. The Doctor stares at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. His beard is unkept, the dark beneath his eyes prominent and he sets his gaze deep into her. Her blood runs cold. 

The Doctor can feel her hearts thrumming away against her chest, like birds throwing themselves at their cage. She almost laughs, she finds it funny in an ironic sort of way, the way that heartbeat screams for war, the way her fingers curl and hands crave to hurt and she can’t take it _HATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOU_ , she doesn’t register how her body throws herself at him with a growl, her hand going for his throat, nails digging into his vulnerable skin. It’s like she’s not present at all, eyes only wildly searching his face lit by the cold light of the room, desperately looking for answers in those dark eyes of his that are so big this time around. She winces in agony as her skin connects with his, not even remotely prepared for the sheer impact of crashing against another time lord after all this time, and then her body follows, how every single movement hurts, pain rocking from her wound in tidal waves. He uses the moment to grab her wrist in a hard hold with a scoff, pushing her back down with a little bit more force than he needs and shoves his chair further back. Her eyes well with tears of pain she can’t control, but she swallows down a whimper and glares at him as she sinks against the wall.

The Master leans back in the chair and crosses his arms. “You’ll heal fast.” His voice is more rugged than she remembers.

“Why are you helping me?” She asks carefully, like one would _carefully_ poke a sleeping bear.

His eyes narrow and he doesn’t skip a beat. “Who says I’m helping you?”

The Doctors catches herself going embarrassingly quiet, blood rushing to her head. _Why would he care?_ “I- I got shot.”

“That does sound like your problem, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that,” she sneers out of habit, biting her teeth together.

He smiles, she feels the amusement rolling off the edges of his mind. “The universe stopped being saved. Did you really think people wouldn’t notice?”

 _Bastard._ She doesn’t say anything.

“Word got around eventually, love. So here I am. Not dead.”

Her fists clench. “ _How?_ ” It's merely a low growl in her throat.

Slowly, the Master leans in. Her eyes follow how is mouth opens slightly, tongue darting over his bottom lip, and she holds her breath for what seems like forever before a disgusting smirk tugs the corners of his mouth upwards. “- _Not_ telling you.”

“ _Stop_ playing games," she sighs, her wrist tugging against the handcuffs. This is all just so thoroughly, utterly wrong. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be alive.

“You wouldn’t have left a TARDIS waiting for me if you didn’t think I could get out of there.”

The Doctor's eyes widen. That pull in her stomach is starting to burn. “That’s not playing games.”

“Oh, _dearest_ ,” he says like dismissing a child.

“That was _hope_ ,” she says, baring her teeth. _Hateyouhateyouhateyou. You would have done anything for him._ There’s a small pause as he looks her straight in the eyes.

The Master stands up, brushing off his suit. “Hope is the biggest game of them all, _Doctor,"_ he says with disgust, spitting her name like it’s a filthy thing.

“Where are you going?” She says, rattling against her restraints again. She feels the drugs pulsating through her system.

He doesn’t answer.

“Why are you here?” She tries again, getting up to her knees, but the Master just smiles and heads for the exit. “ _WHY ARE YOU HERE_?!” The door closes behind him, leaving her in a coldly lit, sterile room.

 _Fucking bastard_. She wants to scream and trash the entire room. _KOSCHEIKOSCHEIKOSCHEIKOSCHEI._ He’s under her skin and she hates it, hates him, _hate him hate him hate him hate him hate hate hatehate_. She sinks down and hits her head against the wall with a sigh. _It’s not him it can’t be, but it is_ she can feel the pull _it’s him it is it’s him._ Her blood boils and frankly, she wants to beat the shit out of him. She’s become so angry now, she thinks, but she doesn’t care.

She tries to stand – only halted by the injury, but it doesn’t really hurt that bad anymore if she doesn’t think about it, and _oh_ , the handcuffs. _Fuck_. Her free hand pats her pockets for the sonic, of course he took it _stupid doctor stupid doctor stupid stupid doctor_ , her eyes immediately scanning the room for something to use instead, quickly landing on the bloodied table. _Aha_.

It’s a little difficult, but eventually she reaches the leg of it and manages to roll the entire table closer to her.

_Deep breath. Deep breath. Breatheinbreatheoutbreathein._

She swallows and grabs the bullet, well, small concentrated energy core, and _screams_ as it burns her flesh. The TARDIS makes a loud protesting noise ringing through the entire ship. She bites her teeth together and manages to press it against the handcuffs and soon enough it melts through the metal like butter and she drops it to the ground with a loud clang, tears running down her cheeks. It smells like seared flesh and she wants to throw up, but she staggers to her feet and runs for the corridor.

The TARDIS whirs in her head, but she can’t really think straight anyway, everything hurts, her body, her head – but she just runs faster until the edges of her vision darkens and she’s in the console room, holding onto the wall for support as she’s about to crash into the third time today. Something strange is under the palm of her hand, she notices, wincing as she moves to look at - _oh._ The sticky notes. Hundreds of coloured papers litters the room, most of them on the floor by now. The Master looks up from the console as he parks the ship, his gaze flickering from her crazed eyes to her bleeding wrist, the mark apparent above her sleeve. She breathes heavily, staring at him, all purple in the shades. He slowly takes one of the sticky notes from the console and smiles as he reads it with pity. " _Try Gallifrey again?_ Oh, _Doctor_."

The Doctor only halts a second before she decides that he's the most horrible, _disgusting_ being in the universe and throws herself at him again. “ _Ah_ , ah, ah!” He shouts, “I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you. I’ve got this whole placed rigged to blow.” 

She stares at her sonic lodged between the Master’s fingers, breathing hard, glaring at the way he flaunts it in front of her eyes like a trophy won at a fair.

 _Call his bluff. Call his bluff. Don’t. Do it. Call it. Don’t do it. Do it._ Her eyes are fixed on where his finger hover just above the button. _Come on come on come on. Become me. Become death. Checkmate, then, mate?_ She swallows thickly. “Why are you stealing my TARDIS?”

"I needed a lift,” he supplies with a shrug of his shoulders, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. A flick of a small lever on the panel and the doors open. The TARDIS chimes unimpressed. _Show-off_.

She takes a step forward and he bring the sonic right back up to her face again. “Remote control,” he hisses. “Don’t follow me.”

_Call it. Do it do it do it do it do it._

He disappears out the doors and into the bright light. The TARDIS warns her with a quiet buzz.

_Do it._

Her feet move before she can think again, and she runs out after him, taking a deep breath of stale blue air as she stops up, blinking and taking in 18th-century Russia. There’s a beat as she stares at his purple-clad back in disbelief. “Why the _fuck_ are we in 18th century Russia?”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t answer and keeps walking.

Her feet are running again and suddenly she’s jumping onto him, clawing at his arms as he tumbles to the ground, but he just _laughs_ and _fucking stars_ _I hate you_ she uses her elbow to hit him at full force in the face and he barks in pain as her hand deftly wrings the sonic from his grip and she holds it up in the air as far away from him as she can, holding onto her wound with her free hand as she breathes heavily. _Call it call it do it._ But then he grins at her through the blood gushing from his nose and she wants to hit him again and _again and againagainagainagain_. But why- Why is he taking it? She knows he’s stronger than her. Why doesn’t he just push her off if the remote control is a bluff-

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, barely holding him down anymore.

“What?”

“ _You_ need _my_ TARDIS,” she realises. He looks around her face searching for his next move. “But here’s the thing. I would rather blow it up than help you.” For some reason, that makes him stop smiling.

“Oh, that’s good,” he half-whispers. “That’s very good.”

“What do you want with it?” She pushes, tightening her grip into his shoulder where she holds him down. “ _WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH IT?_ ” She screams at him, pushing him harder into the ground.

He licks his lips before looking back up at her. “My TARDIS was damaged. I need a core crystal to get it up and moving again.”

“Nah, no, nu-uh, I don't believe you. And anyway, you’re not getting that from me. I’m not giving you _anything_.”

There’s a small silence as he looks her directly in the eyes again. It feels like he looks directly into her soul. _You have nothing to hide anymore_.

It seems like an eternity as he looks into her old, green eyes. His voice more quiet than usual, but instilled with the confidence that makes her sick. “…Then why did you search the entire known universe for me?” He says, and all of the air in her lungs is knocked out of her. It’s like a punch in the gut. She bites her teeth shut and closes her eyes just briefly, but that’s enough for him to use the moment of weakness to push her down under him and reach for the sonic, but she's quick enough to lodge it between them, her finger on the trigger.

“ _Do it_ ,” he growls. She kicks him hard enough to get him off her, up on his knees, and she staggers up on her knees too, right in front of him.

“If the only thing that stands between you and the universe is blowing up my TARDIS, then _gladly,_ ” she says in a low voice, and presses the button without hesitating.

The explosion makes the ground shake, the heat washing over them like waves and she buries her face in the grass to shield herself. It’s over in a few seconds. She looks at the Master. He leans his head back against the ground.

“Great,” he sighs. “Now we’re stuck in 18th-century Russia.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor takes a deep breath and decides to handle the consequences of her actions later.

She digs her right hand into the earth and pushes herself up, blonde hair falling in her face. She tries to blow it away with an annoyed huff as she dusts herself off, taking a quick look over the scenery. It smells like misery and uprising, and she considers whether she should start running or not. She can feel the absolute exasperation welling from the Master in waves and she wonders if he’s even trying to hide it from her – well, probably not. But she really doesn’t care. The Doctor skims over the soot and flaming grass and sees a road leading into the woods not far ahead, and if she listens really closely, she’s certain a carriage is approaching. She smiles. Finally, some good luck.

With resolute steps her feet start trampling their way towards the woods, boots heavy as they hit the hard ground. “Where are you going?” The Master calls out after her, but she doesn’t really pay him much attention as she’s preoccupied with tracking down her way out of the wilderness.

“Away from you,” she offers with a shrug of her shoulders. She can hear him staggering to his feet behind her and rolls her eyes.

The Master doesn’t answer, just quickens his pace just as the carriage emerges from the woods. The Doctor sticks her tongue out to taste the air, it’s not very cold, at least not for them, but it must be nearing winter. Earth has winter, right?

As the carriage approaches the Doctor runs out in the road, waving her hand like a madman. “Hey! HEY!” She shouts, the Master burying his face in his hand immediately. The carriage eventually slows down and a young, blonde woman steps out. _Funny_ , the Doctor thinks for just a second, _she looks a little bit like Rose_. The Master steals her thoughts the moment he catches up with the Doctor, hovering just behind her.

She glares at him over her shoulder. “Are you following me just to annoy me?”

He doesn’t even look at her. “I don’t care,” he says as he starts walking towards the woman. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Hello,” the stranger says enthusiastically, approaching them without a single doubt. The Master smiles at her.

“Good day, madam,” he says, suddenly all charm and the Doctor watches in disbelief as his whole demeanour changes in a second. _Madam?_ She asks him, just the slightest reach of her mind to his. _Look at her clothes_ , he sighs, but not the slightest change to his friendly exterior. The Doctor’s eyes narrow as she looks the woman over again, taking in her elegant blue dress. “As you perhaps can tell, our carriage got in quite the accident,” he says lightly, gesturing to their dishevelled looks and the Doctor’s fairly ruined clothes, torn and blood-soaked. She supplies with a with a weak huff of laughter.

“Oh, my,” the woman exclaims, apparently not even having noticed before he pointed it out. “Goodness, that looks horrifying, are you in need of help?” She asks, reaching out to take the Doctor’s shoulder and look intensely at her pale face. “Right, er, no, it should be fine. Only minor scratches,” the Doctor says, trying her best to be reassuring. “It’s fine, I’m in tip-top shape. Promise. Would you mind terribly if we hitched a ride with you?”

“Oh, not at all! There should be plenty of medical assistance at the palace, I’d be glad to have you accompany me,” the woman says immediately, already ushering them towards the carriage.

“The palace?” They both say at the same time as the woman opens the door and gathers her skirts to climb inside. “Why, yes, of course,” she replies with ease. The time lords follow her inside, sitting down at the bench opposite her. “I’m sure my soon-to-be husband would be delighted to meet you,” she says, knocking for the servant that they’re ready to go. As the horses suddenly pull the carriage, the Doctor has to support herself on the Master’s knee to not stumble forwards into the woman’s lap.

“Your husband?” the Master asks in that way he asks things when he wants more information, and the woman smiles, like they’re being very silly. “Yes. Peter. I haven’t met him yet, but I’m positive he will take good care of you. I’m Catherine, by the way.”

The Doctors mouth drops. “No way! You’re Catherine the Great?”

The Master sighs and Catherine looks very puzzled. “What do you mean, the Great?”

The Doctor clears her throat and scratches the side of her head. _Fuck._ “I just meant – uh, you… seem like - a very… _great_ person. Right?” She says, elbowing the Master a little harder than she needs to. He sighs again. “Right,” he says, completely monotone. The Doctor grins.

“Oh, well, in that case, thank you,” Catherine says, a slight blush to her cheeks as she smiles in return. “It was actually quite lucky that I would happen to stumble upon you,” she says, and lowers her voice a bit as she leans forward. “How so?” The Doctor asks, leaning in as well, the Master letting his back hit the wall as he rolls his eyes.

“Well, see, I don’t really know anyone here. Or know all that much about the man I’m about to marry. All I know from his letters is that he’s very romantic.”

The Master coughs. The Doctor shoots him a look and he raises an eyebrow at her. “What? Dry throat.”

She turns her attention back to the blonde soon-to-be empress, a smile toying with her lip. “Well, Catherine, I’m the Doctor. I think we’re gonna be the best of friends,” she says, and the Master thinks he may throw up.

It only takes an hour of pleasant information-gathering on the Master’s part before the Doctor, so absolutely exhausted from the healing process of her injuries, starts passing out intermittently, drifting in and out of dreams. When that happens, the Master learns that Catherine is absolutely fascinated by how the sleeping Doctor has managed to earn a doctorate despite being a woman. “Ah, well, she got it in - France. Radical thinkers, there,” he says with a dismissive wave. “That’s exactly what I think as well!” Catherine exclaims, making the Master feel as though he has riled up a hamster in a pet store.

He decides not to continue that conversation, so he won’t have to discuss earth philosophy with an imbecile. He searches for other topics, but Catherine beats him to it. “So, does your wife have a medical practice?”

The Master has to use all his strength not to burst out laughing. Oh, he’s going to have a field day with this one. “Oh, _yes,_ my _wife_ , well, _unfortunately_ not. I thought you’d realise that it would be quite impractical for a woman.” He bites back his smile as he watches the blush creep onto her cheeks. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.” It doesn’t take long until they’re back talking about Russia and emperor Peter, the Master trying to map out everything he needs to find out.

Suddenly a shrill voice cuts through the small carriage. “Are we _there_ yet?” The Doctor asks, interrupting the Master’s idle chit-chat with the girl unaware of the future in store for her. He glares at her, seething with annoyance. The Doctor’s legs are bouncing faster than the horses’ hooves hit the ground. The Master sighs _again_. Always such a damn child. Catherine stifles a laugh. “You act like my nephew, Doctor. Nor he can sit still."

"I don't see the problem with that. Love a good nephew, me."

Catherine's eyes suddenly well with excitement as her gaze is locked out of the window. "I think I can see the palace now. We should arrive any moment.”

The Doctor is quick to tear away the curtains on her side of the window and press her face to the glass. They’re in an enormous garden, well-kept and bustling with servants and members of the court. “Look at that,” she says, just under her breath. Humans never cease to amaze her, somehow. In a time ruled by uncertainty and death and war, they still manage to find the beauty and hold onto it. For better or for worse, she supposes, and lets out a little scoff.

“What?” The Master glances over at her. She looks at him and smiles. “Nothing.”

The carriage pulls up in the courtyard, stopping outside a grand entrance. “Stars, _finally_ ,” the Doctor says, opening the door on her side only to be greeted by a surprised servant. She pays him no mind and leaps out, disappearing behind the horses. The servants open the doors for the princess, helping her down, the Master following close behind. As she explains her entourage’s situation to the servants, the Master’s gaze immediately searches for the Doctor. She doesn’t exactly blend in, stretching lightly beside an intricately detailed flowerpot, so he finds and stalks towards her within seconds.

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” She says, nose scrunching as she cracks up her back from sitting still so long.

The Master looks at her with contempt. “Considering that we’re stuck here until we find a way to locate my TARDIS? Still disgusting. It reeks here.”

“ _We?_ ” She repeats with a laugh. “Figured you’d try to kill me and leave me here at earliest possible convenience.”

He looks at her. “I might.”

She’s not afraid. She looks him right back in the eye. They stand like that for a few seconds. Then she tilts her head and smiles. “ _Naah_ , you won’t. In that case you would have done it already. I reckon you still need me for something.”

He doesn’t answer. The Doctor opens her mouth to ask, but that exact moment Catherine hurries over to share the exciting news. “I’ve told them that you’re with me and what happened with your carriage, and you’ll be staying with me in the court. Isn’t that amazing?” She asks with a grin. The Master and the Doctor both force a smile. “Yes,” the Master says. “I couldn’t imagine anything better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't stop thinking about sascha being in the great..... so it's slowly developing into a crossover :))


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think! <33

“ _Wife?!”_ The Doctor’s angry voice rings loudly through the huge, ornamented room they’ve been given.

A huge grin spreads across the Master’s face. She looks at him with disgust, stomping her way towards where he sits comfortably on the big emperor-sized bed. “Oh, this is nice,” he says, stroking his hand over the golden silk. “I think I could get used to this,” he says nonchalantly, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

The Doctor stares at him in disbelief, anger crawling onto her face. “You told them I’m your _wife?_ Seriously?”

“Hate to break it to you, _dear_ , but have you _seen_ yourself recently?”

She hates to admit he’s right, tilting her chin upwards in a last attempt to regain her pride. “Well, I’m not staying with you,” she says as she turns away from him, heading towards the big oak doors.

“Doctor _dearest_ ,” he hisses at her as he stands up, grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards him with a little too much force, “as much as I don’t _care_ about what you _want_ , for some _stupid_ reason I’d rather you didn’t go ahead and get yourself _killed_ here-“

“ _Don’t touch me,_ ” she snarls, yanking her hand away from his grip. They stay like that for a little while, way, way too close and staring each other down.

“You do need me alive, then,” she says, a little quieter. He looks at her and swallows. She shakes her head just slightly. “I wonder what’s gotten into you.”

The Master doesn’t answer.

“Are you gonna tell me?” She asks, a bit too vulnerable.

“No,” the Master says, and his eyes are so big and dark the Doctor fears she might get lost in them. She takes a deep breath and shoves him, hard. “Fuck off, then,” she says, and turns away from him to hide the tears threatening to form at the corner of her eyes.

This regeneration feels a lot, the Doctor thinks, as she listens to his footsteps leave the room behind her and the door swinging shut with a loud, echoing noise. She lets out a deep sigh and sits down at the ginormous bed, burying her face in her hands as she rests her elbows on her knees.

Some part of her really hopes he’ll be gone when she eventually steps out of those doors, but a tiny, tiny bit she’ll never let reach the surface really doesn’t know what she would do if he was. She shrugs and lets her body fall back against the covers; strands of blonde hair sprawled over the sheets.

Why is he still here? The Master she’s used to, the Master she _knows_ , would leave her behind, usually for dead, as soon as he possibly could. What in the universe could be so important he needs her alive? That he _needs_ her?

The last time she saw him comes to mind, violently, knocking the breath out of her as her body is trapped again, unable to move against the paralysis field. His bloodshot and crazed eyes, the erratic movements of his body as he told her everything. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then another. Taking hold of the silk covers, feeling the material against her skin. _Doctordoctordoctor. You’re here, keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing. He’s here too_. She feels the trigger under her finger, she feels the Master’s stare as he begs her to do it, she feels the dust of her planet on her skin and the presence of her dead people, the way the fate of the entire universe was on her shoulders – _but when hasn’t it been, Doctor? When hasn’t it been your job to save everything? You don’t even know half of it. You don’t even know yourself._

The Doctor swallows and sits up. “Focus,” she whispers to herself. _Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_. She doesn’t even notice the tears running from her eyes before she’s startled by one of the big doors opening, her body flinching like a scared cat before she catches a glimpse of Catherine entering the room followed by a young brunette woman holding a bundle of clothing.

“Oh, hello,” the Doctor say, standing up and wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

“Hello, my dear,” Catherine says with a big smile, “I ran into your husband on my way over, he did say you were tired from the day you’ve had and needed to rest, but sincerely I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by.”

The Doctor smiles. “No, not at all. Come in.”

“This is Marial,” she says happily as the two make their way inside.

“Lady Doctor,” Marial says with a polite courtesy.

The Doctor watches her with a slight tilt to her head and a confused gaze, trying to copy her movement rather awkwardly, achieving some sort of quick motion of bending her knees and standing up again. “Pleased to meet you, Marial,” she says with a lot of enthusiasm. Marial looks at her with an approving nod and leans in closer to the soon-to-be empress, lowering her voice. “I like her.” The Doctor grins at them both.

Catherine approaches the bed. “We’ve had words, and Marial will be your girl as well.” The Doctor looks between them for a few seconds. “Right. My girl. Of course,” she says, not really understanding what they mean, but deciding not to ask questions. Marial comes closer with determined steps, and places the bundle of clothing down on the bed, the bundle turning out to be an elegant,

“The wedding’s tonight at seven,” Marial says, “We better start getting you ready. Because frankly, you look awful.”

“Well, not awful,” Catherine shoots in, “you’ve just had a rough day, I’m sure. You’ll borrow clothes from me until the tailors can make you your own dresses.” It takes a few moments and the Doctor has to blink several times to process all this new information. “Wait, that’s for me?” She points to the garment on the bed. “No, I don’t really – I don’t really wear dresses,” she says, shifting her weight between her feet.

“Surely, you must be jesting,” Catherine asks with unsure eyes, ready to laugh at a moment’s notice. The Doctor bites her lip and looks away. “I’ve never – I’ve never worn a dress before. Not as a woman, anyway.”

“You’ve _never_ worn a dress before?” The women say in unison, completely ignoring her last comment. “Good god, I wonder what kind of husband you have that allows you to wear… well, _that_ ,” Catherine says. “You must be very good in bed,” Marial shoots in with another approving nod.

“Ah, well, _that_ ,” the Doctor gives a shrug and can’t hide her smirk, and all of them burst out laughing. She decides not to think about fucking the Master senseless. Marial smiles knowingly as she notices the blush creeping over the Doctor’s cheeks. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says with a wave, ushering them into the bathroom.

The Doctor has no modesty stripping off her clothes and getting into the bath Marial’s drawn for her, Catherine laughing at her eagerness. “Ooh, feels good,” the Doctor says, closing her eyes as she leans back into the warm water, dried blood tinting it a transparent red. She jumps a little and opens her eyes as Marial brings a sponge to her skin. The Doctor stops her with a gentle hand on hers. “I can do that myself, you know,” she offers, looking at her with kind eyes. “No, let me,” Marial says with a grateful smile. “Here, lean forward.”

The Doctor does as she says, bringing her knees up to her chest and leaning her head on them. Marial halts a little when she sees her back, covered in scratches and healed burn marks, and the very big, closed injury a lot closer to a scar than a wound on her lower left side.

“Uh, Lady Doctor - I thought you just were in the accident _today_?”

“Yes, I was,” the Doctor says, raising her head, then remembering humans are a bit more fragile and curses herself internally. “Nothing major. I heal fast.”

Marial’s eyebrows furrow. “But what about all the blood?”

“Er, yes… Well, it’s not mine. It’s… Oh! Our driver fell off and was trampled to death by the horses.” _Nice one, Doctor._

Catherine’s hand flies to cover her mouth. “How awful!”

“Oh, no, no, it was a – it was a quick death. Just a lot of blood and gore and intestines, just everywhere, you know.” The Doctor gives a dismissing wave as Marial helps her out of the bath. “Jesus,” Marial says. The Doctor swallows. “ _Yeah_ , yes, it was, er, a lot.”

“Right,” Marial says.

“Right,” the Doctor says.

No further questions asked, Marial gives her a towel to dry off, and soon they’re helping the Doctor into one of Catherine’s dresses. It’s green-grey with intricate details, a cold colour that suits both their pale complexions very well. The fabric is soft against her skin, and she thinks that this might not be too bad, until Marial says three words: “Hold your breath.”

“Wait, wh-“ is all the Doctor manages to get out before they start tightening the corset with a hard push against her ribs, almost activating her respiratory bypass in the process. Marial’s hands work deftly, and soon enough the Doctor stands a little shaky in the middle of the room, green fabric flowing around her. The dress is a little big around her upper body, hanging a bit loose around her shoulders and collarbone. “How’s anyone supposed to breathe in this?” The Doctor asks, resting her hands on her hips.

Marial looks at her with a smile. “You’re not.”

“You’ll get used to it, Doctor,” Catherine says, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You suit my dress well. Come on, let’s do your hair.”

“Why, thank you.” The Doctor smiles, wondering if Catherine is flirting with her. She follows the two without a word, picking at a part of the dress around her middle, trying to find any way to loosen it a little. _It’ll be hard to run in this_ , she thinks. As Marial braids her hair into an updo, she chats idly with the two women about the palace, carefully steering clear of their questions about the Master. She looks at the jewellery on the table in front of her, picking it up and playing with it between her fingers. _Why do you always have to keep your hands busy, Doctor?_

She’s stirred from her thoughts by Catherine’s enthusiastic words. “Well, all done. Here, try these,” she says, gesturing to a pair of heels in her lap. “Ah,” the Doctor says, swallowing. “Er, no thanks. I’ll just put on my shoes.”

Catherine looks at her in disbelief. “But they’re so–“

“Ah, they’re fine,” the Doctor interrupts much to Marial’s pleasure, a small laugh stifled behind her. She smiles. “Don’t worry, they’re _really_ comfy. Now, let’s get to that wedding of yours, eh? I _love_ a good wedding.”


	6. Chapter 6

Now, the Master has had a very, very rough couple of days. Not only did the death particle end up almost completely fucking up his new, stolen TARDIS, but it also made him realise one small, insignificant thing. He doesn’t want the Doctor to die.

Stupid, pretentious Doctor. He hates her, he truly does. But when he climbed out of the smoking ashes of the camouflaged wreckage, he thought about Gallifrey. (This TARDIS made itself look like the ruins of a small peasant farm set on fire, from what? _Earth?_ Oh, very clever, he thought as he spat out some blood and coughed, wondering whether all TARDISES shared the same hatred towards him specifically to place him on Earth, of all places in the known universe.)

He really thought she was going to do it this time with her finger on the trigger, he really did. The man who never would. But _of course_ she had to go ahead and be so fucking sanctimonious, always so bloody _special_. The Master finally thought they could be the same, he finally thought they’d be together again, even if he’d have to break her down to the cracked remains of her core. He wanted them to go together as they came, _together_. He was giving her a chance to undo all the damage she’s unwittingly caused, _whatever she is_ , and let the two of them finally be equal in death.

He blames her for not pressing the trigger, just a little bit. The Master is really, really tired. It would be nice to finally have some godforsaken rest. Maybe that would calm all the rage.

She can do whatever the hell she wants, and he doesn’t care, but for some reason he won’t let her die, and he feels slightly sick at the thought. He blames the time lords for what they did to her. To him. To them. They were just children running through the red grass. And that’s what he realised: they deserve more than they got for doing all of this. He wants them to fucking suffer.

-

It didn’t take long before he was rummaging through the broken TARDIS, slowly constructing a makeshift, pretty shit teleportation device. He hates _cheap_ time travel, but he still reluctantly hit in the coordinates for one of the largest black markets on the outskirts of the universe, and the next second he found himself pulled through the time vortex and letting out a cry of pain as he landed in a dark back alley on Voratix IV. Probably a small miscalculation, he thinks to himself as he stretches, feeling his bones shift back into place as he glances over the dirty, grimy marketplace, taking in the sight and smell of the bustling square filled with organ booths, and all the lesser creatures making their way through it. Disgusting. The Master spots deals being made, cash exchanged, if he looks closely, he thinks he can see what might or might not be an ongoing slave trade. Feels like home, he thinks, and makes his way towards a familiar gambling den.

There he gets the information and alcohol he needs. His calculations were way, way off, or the sodding teleportation device just absolutely, royally fucked up. It’s been ages since Gallifrey, or at least for the Doctor, he learns, and she’s almost completely disappeared off the map. “Where is she?” He asks nonchalantly, trying his best to act uninterested. The barkeep looks at him with all his five swelling, purple eyes. “Lookin’ for you, I presume. Nobody knows where’s gone, but everyone’s hiding if she comes to. She doesn’t stop at anythin’ these days.”

The Master looks at him, swivelling the ice around his glass. “What do you mean?”

“She’s lookin’ anywhere and everywhere for information on where you could be. Isn’t afraid of takin’ no chances, she’s burnt down the entire library just to trace this one clue that turned out to be a false lead.”

“Which library?”

“ _The_ library.”

“Ah,” the Master sets his glass down. It’s worse than he thought. The barkeep leans in, a little slime spilling onto the counter. “And you didn’t hear about the settlement on Viccan?”

“No,” the Master says.

“All dead.”

The Master sighs. He stands up, leaving the glass on the counter.

“But, now, you didn’t hear nothing from me, you hear?” The Barkeep says as he stalks towards the exit. The Master doesn’t answer, just pushes the door open with one hand as he steps out into the street, looking up at the night sky. He wonders, just briefly why she hasn’t opened the telepathic link they never broke off on Gallifrey. He hasn’t closed it, for some reason. But he knows how to get her attention anyway.

-

For some bloody reason, he finds himself in a Dalek prison camp. It’s crowded and utterly revolting, but he knows the Doctor will be here. And sure enough, she shows up. Not exactly has he had imagined, though, a little less smugly, very irritatingly saving-the-day and a little more about to be shot in front of the entire crowd. It takes him a while to react. She looks rugged and like she hasn’t slept in weeks, which she probably hasn’t, she’s scrawnier and her clothes are torn, her hair is long and falls over her shoulders and into her face. She almost doesn’t look like herself. _Maybe you finally broke her_ , a smug little voice all the way inside him says, but for once, the Master doesn’t take the bait. He just stares at her when she finds him the crowd, his hearts beating faster, a rush of adrenaline with the pull inside him that draws him towards her. He doesn’t think, he just shoots the guard about to hurt her. Only he gets to do that.

-

Now, some events later, the Doctor blew up her TARDIS and it dematerialised, and they’re stuck somewhere in 18th-century Russia without a single clue to where his broken one is. She talks very highly about such an absolutely useless fucking machine that couldn’t even home in on the signal he fed it. Well, it doesn’t really like him after what he did to it during the year that never was, but still. It could have tried to cooperate. Well, not that they would be able to get the parts it needs from hers now anyway. Granted, he didn’t tell her any of this, but, come on, it would have been a lot easier if everyone just worked together for once.

The Doctor has been acting unusually skittish and guarded around him ever since they landed here, he thinks, head in his hands as he sits in the hallway and ponders her behaviour. She no less annoying than usual, though, so there’s that. Not to mention all the violence, although he doesn’t really care about that. He wants to tell her what they could do together – that if they get out of here, they can hurt the time lords for what they did to them, more than what she possibly can imagine. He just doesn’t want to ruin anything by saying it too soon, as she easily would reject him where she’s at now. It’s a tricky fucking situation, he thinks, the Doctor with her bleeding hearts and all her bloody self-pitying empathy.

After he left her all alone in the big, empty room, he was met by some of the members of the court, very interested in getting to know him and hear all about the accident, and his thoughts about the wedding. He masterly navigated the conversation through small details and vague topics, taking notes of any small thing he could use for blackmail later. Grigor is jealous of his best friend, the emperor, fucking his wife, Lady Georgina, who is much more into the emperor than her husband. The ladies of the court are slightly suspicious of the new empress, but they all are a lot more interested in this handsome new addition to court, as they put it. Soon enough Grigor excuses them and shows him around some of the palace with George before they present the Master with clothes to wear for the wedding. They three of them get along surprisingly well, the Master finds, and thinks that maybe he wouldn’t have so much against the Doctor’s pets if they were as wicked and carnal as these are.

They leave him alone to wash and change, and so he does. He thinks about how it might be fun to kill one of those annoying ladies of the court and then see how the gossip would map out, and who they’d blame, but he decides that he can do it later. When he gets bored, maybe. Then he sees just the smallest faded bruise on his neck and remembers the Doctor’s fingers digging into his skin and thinks maybe he won’t get bored so easily. It doesn’t take long before he finishes dressing, and he heads out, making sure to steer away from the sitting rooms of the court as he makes his way back to their room.

The Master is about to storm in but for a reason he can’t explain, he decides not to, and instead sinks down on a chair in the hallway. He can feel her from here, there’s a hurt and uncertainty to her mind that radiates off her in waves, almost heavy enough to bother him, but not quite. _Stop peeking,_ she says, and he lets out a huff of air through his nose, but sure enough, he does, without saying anything at all. The space occupied with her mind retracts a little, but it wavers, like she was waiting for a reply. But the Master just sits back and waits, until the doors open, and the Doctor emerges tentatively with Catherine and another woman behind her, talking and laughing amongst them. He doesn’t really know what to do – the Doctor is wearing one of those very dresses, and he doesn’t really know what he expected, but not that – and yet he can’t take her eyes away from her. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her like this, so… feminine, with her hair up and dress flowing around her, slightly off size and exposing a lot of the skin over her breasts.

The Doctor falls silent when she sees him stare at her, uncomfortably pulling up the upper part off her dress she’s wearing to stop it from sliding down.

“Uh, you look – you look good,” he swallows, mentally hitting himself for sounding like horny, prepubescent teen as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Oh,” she says, like that wasn’t what she expected to hear at all, smoothing down the fabric on the front of her dress. “Right, thanks. Wedding?”

“Wedding,” he repeats, joining the group as they head towards the great hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Master's POV! A lot has happened for him, hahaa. Comments are great, let me know if you like the story!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was a bit slow on uploading this as i had a lot of work recently, but let me know what you think! hope you like it :))
> 
> also side note, i did some research but i don't actually know how russian weddings work, so i just tried my best :D

The wedding was beautiful, albeit rather quick. In all fairness, it did seem a lot more like a business meeting than a celebration of love. The bride and groom were handed a burning candle each, they exchanged rings, the priest placed wreaths on their hands and blessed them before he prayed to the east. The Doctor elbowed the Master in the ribs again the moment he tried to scoff, earning a dirty look sent her way. Then the new couple prayed, and the church officially blessed their marriage and wished them to have many children and grandchildren as the onlooking crowd _aww’_ ed and clasped their hands together.

“- This fucking duck is delicious; do you not find?” Emperor Peter says to his new wife, licking the fat off his fingers, and the Doctor is suddenly torn away from her thoughts.

“Indeed,” Catherine, the new empress, politely nods at him. The Doctor’s eyes roam the ceremonial banquet and the tables set in a horse-shoe formation with the emperor and empress at the very top. The Master in a courteous discussion with the man at his side, a rather tall man in a funny hat with a funny beard. The Doctor stares at the at the lit candles on their table as she stabs the food on her plate with a fork over and over again, unnoticed by the chatter of the room. _Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_. Watching that entire ceremony, and sitting here, stranded among the royalty of 18th-centry Russia with no one but her best enemy, she’s only now having the time to process how bizarre all of this is. Normally she’d be doing whatever she could to get back to her TARDIS, but for some reason she’s going along with this play of his, and well, she does love a good wedding. It just should be feeling a lot more wrong, sitting next to the person who destroyed her home. If it even was her home. As if on cue, she suddenly feels the Master’s mind prod cautiously at the outmost edges of hers and she freezes like a deer in headlights, fingers pressed against the metal, unable to move. _Relax_ , he says, turning around to look her directly in the eyes, a careful warning, and she wonders if he heard her as his hand moves through the air towards hers and she can’t find the strength to get away.

“Everything alright?” Catherine calls over to her with a tilt of her head, the Doctor’s head jerking up at the words and placing her fork down as her face instantly breaks into a rather forced smile as she watches the Master place his hand on the table instead in the corner of her eye. “Yes, of course. Super. What about you? It was a lovely wedding.”

The empress opens her mouth to answer, a smile on her face as well, but she’s interrupted by her husband gesturing to the man in the funny hat sitting beside the Master. “Ever eaten duck as good as this, Archie?”

“I have not,” archbishop Archie says.

“Ever eaten pussy?” The emperor asks with what appears to be genuine curiosity, earning a loud bark of laughter from the Master as the court snickers to themselves. The Doctor can’t help but smile. _See? You can have a good time,_ the Master nudges from where he watches the archbishop struggle to hold his composure. “I have not.”

“Oh _, ho_ , God is a cruel master,” the emperor says laughing, stuffing more of the duck into his mouth, earning a scoff from the Doctor as the emperor introduces Catherine to a rather sweaty man apparently called Velementov.

She turns to the Master with a scrunch of her nose. “I’ll show you a good time,” she says, reaching for one of the glasses of peppered vodka in front of her, taking it to her lips and downing it in one go. She’s tasted way worse, but there’s still a faint sting racing down her throat. The Master looks at her, eventually breaking into a smirk. “You’re on,” he says rather smugly, doing the same with his vodka. The Doctor takes a sip from a big glass of wine.

She swallows thickly and frowns in disgust. “Still don’t like it, really.”

The Master looks at her again, drinking from his glass. “What’s going on? Why are you so… well, you know,” he says, gesturing to her bouncing leg.

“I’m fine.”

He laughs again. “Right.”

“I am!” She says a bit louder than she has to, throwing her free hand in the air. She sighs. “Leave me alone, it’s a wedding.”

“Look, not that I _care_ about your holier-than-thou wallowing in self-pity, _dear_ , but gods, you’re bringing the mood down with y-“ the Master is interrupted by the emperor shoving the sweaty man rather harshly to the floor with a loud thud, but the decides to ignore it with a wave of his hand and moving closer to the Doctor. “Chin up. Pretend that we belong here, so they don’t kill us, _wife_.”

She swallows and looks away from him. “Alright.” In front of her a woman with big hair has approached the empress, and right there and then as she watches Catherine’s eyes sparkle as they watch the floating bubbles, the Doctor decides that she, too, will make the best of the situation. “Let’s get drunk,” she says, reaching for another glass with a smile on her face. “Remember that time on Yxtro jenir? When we–”

She’s interrupted by the emperor downing one of his drinks in the middle of the room and throwing it to the ground with a loud shout of “ _huzzah!_ ” as the glass scatters into a thousand pieces over the floor.

“I miss my mother today,” the emperor says, rather mournfully, suddenly a lot softer in his demeanour. “How she would have loved this. She was the last empress of Russia,” he says, earning a loud “ _huzzah!”_ in response from the rest of the court as they raise their glasses quickly. “But, a toast to my new wife, the new empress of Russia!” Emperor Peter continues as the court all stand up; the last time lords quick to follow before the crowd erupts in various shouts of “ _huzzah!_ ” from all over the room as they all toss their glasses down in salute. The Master swallows down the rest of his glass in one mouthful, then throws his to the ground as well before leaning in to whisper in the Doctor’s ear. “Already way ahead of you, love.”

Then the empress stands up to speak, and the crowd goes silent. She carries herself with elegance and honour as she’s about to make her speech. “It is a-“

“No, you don’t speak, my love,” the emperor says as he turns around to look at her, a little bit shocked by her initiative.

“Oh, of course,” Catherine says, sitting back down with a nod. The Doctor catches her gaze and they share a small, knowing smile. Despite all of this, she’s glad she’s made a new friend, and she feels that tingling urge in the back of her head that wants to show her the TARDIS and take her away to see the stars.

“So,” Peter continues, “a wedding gift for my new wife seems in order,” and he gestures to the end of the room where a bear is being brought in, to the gasps and amazement of the court. They all break into applause as Peter smiles at his new wife. “I hope you like it.”

Catherine squeals in excitement as she gets up from her chair and rushes to greet the apparently tame bear. “ _Huzzah!_ ” Peter yells, the court responding with just as much gusto. “Let us drink!”

“Finally,” the Master says, “some fun.”

-

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. There’s a lot of drinking, shouting, breaking glasses, dancing, well, a lot of dancing on the Doctor’s behalf. The Master watches her make a fool of herself on the floor, for some reason glaring possessively whenever one of the men asks her for another dance. When he starts to think she looks positively breath-taking where she whirls around on the dancefloor illuminated by the glow of fire and candles, how her laughter lights up her face and the small strands of heart sticking to her forehead, he drinks more and turns around.

Then there’s a lot more drinking, shouting, some more dancing, broken glasses, and a _lot_ more drinking. The bear is also involved in something the Master doesn’t really pay attention to, instead watching the Doctor make her way around the room with her dance partner and ending up saying good-bye to him with a kiss on the cheek, something which fuels a fire deep within the Master’s stomach as he sips gloomily from his cup. The Doctor chats happily with Catherine as the Master is approached by someone he _already_ can tell is going to be annoying.

He turns around to meet the emperor. “Huzzah!” Peter cries with a broad smile, earning a nod from the Master. “What a joyous occasion. You must be the stranger the empress brought. Everyone keeps going on about you, so, well, I simply had to see what all the fucking fuzz was about.”

“And here I am, your excellency,” he says spreading his arms, a smugness creeping onto his face. Peter looks at him, tilting of his head. “You are a bit shorter than I imagined, I’d say.”

The Master’s hand curl into a fist just as a smaller hand loops around his upper arm and the Doctor’s very drunk figure crashes into him for support. “Hello!” She beams, her cheeks flushed, and her face covered in a sheen of sweat from all the dancing. An obnoxious smile creeps onto the Master’s face. “Well, this is my _wife_.” She greets the emperor with a small wave.

“Ah, yes, the _lady_ Doctor, or whatever. I did think that was rather funny. She’s very pretty,” Peter ignores the Doctor completely, only speaking to the Master. “Might have to fuck her brains out some time,” he says elbowing the Master as he laughs heartily.

The fire flashes throughout his entire body as he’s about to lunge at the man and rip his cock off. The Doctor stops him with the smallest tug on his arm and a firm, but very sad _don’t_. It rings through his head until the Doctor smiles and puts on the happiest of faces. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, emperor, but I promised my… _husband_ a dance. We’ll see you later.”

She steers him away from the emperor and almost trips over her own dress in the process, earning a burst of laughter. The Master rolls his eyes. “Fucking human cunt. I need more to drink.”

“No, not yet. He’s still watching us,” The Doctor says, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Come here.” She takes his hand and pulls him towards a spot in the middle of the room where there’s place for the two of them.

The Master laughs. “No, I’m not dancing.”

“What? You said it yourself. Pretend that we belong here, so they don’t kill us, _husband_.” His head feels a little dizzy and he scoffs in response. “Fine.”

She smiles at that, tilting her chin up just a bit to look at him. He takes hold of her hand and her hip to pull her slightly closer a bit too harshly. “You still can’t dance, Doctor. And it’s been, what? Millenia since the academy?”

Neither of them chooses to comment on the sting those words leave in their hearts, but his is more a spark to the glowing embers in the pit of his stomach, _hatehatehate_ , the raging storm and fire surging through his body. He can tell it’s doesn’t ignite the same wrath for the Doctor from her sad eyes.

“Shut up,” she says, “I had to teach _you_ basic maths.”

He laughs again. It’s like walking on tightrope. “Well, that’s simply not true. I taught you. _You_ barely passed.”

“Maybe so,” she admits, but somehow still trying to regain her pride. “But maybe I wanted you to help me.” He blows a huff of air through his nose. “Or maybe you were just a really stupid idiot.”

“Maybe,” she laughs, and he laughs too. There’s a small pause where they just move together in silence, everyone faint but them. It’s a nice moment, he thinks. It’s almost like he doesn’t crave that _war_ , the hurt and the blood and the pain. He just looks at the strands of blonde hair tucked behind the Doctor’s ear and the dark underneath her eyes. She looks tired, really tired. Like she hasn’t slept for a long time. He wonders how long she looked for him. And why she kept doing it. He watches how the dress is slightly too big and keeps sliding down towards her shoulder, exposing more of her collarbone, his eyes drifting further down to the corset pressed against her breasts. He wonders what she looks like this time around, he’s thought about that for a long time, ever since he-

“Why haven’t you tried to kill me and revealed your grand, evil plan yet?” The Doctor says with a lot of vulnerability, interrupting his train of drunken thought. He sighs.

“Not telling you.”

“Please.”

“ _No._ ”

“I thought you were _dead_ ,“ she starts, but her voice breaks, and he sees the anger flash over her face as she wrings away from his grip.

“Get off me,” she hisses, shoving him with her shoulder as she hurries past him towards the door. He stands there for a few seconds, unsure what to say or do, then he looks up and makes eye contact with Catherine. “ _Oh_ , fuck off,” he snarls at her and follows the Doctor.

Out in the hall he hears her footsteps from far away. He forgot how fast she is and curses in a long dead language. He starts jogging and eventually catches up to her outside their room, her eyes welling with tears as she lets go of the skirts she’d been holding up and lets them fall around her feet again.

The Master still doesn’t know what to say.

“I _really_ thought you were dead. That you were gone. _Forever_. Can you imagine how that feels?” She says, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The Master takes a long time to answer honestly. “No.”

Because she’ll always be there. No matter what he does, she will always be more, she’ll always be there, before him and after him. He can’t imagine a life without the Doctor, because he’ll always have one.

She steps closer to him, her hands curled into fists. “I’ve never been so scared,” she says, silently, and as she blinks, she can’t help the tears falling from her eyes.

The Master swallows. She looks at him, cheeks flushed and gaze raw, and he frowns at the look on her face. He’s about to say something when she places her hands on either side of his neck and leans up to kiss him, her skin warm and her lips heavy against his. She lingers there, for a moment, desperate as she clumsily leans into him, body pushing against his.

They haven’t kissed like this in a long time, and he’s so taken by surprise that he really doesn’t know what to do, and so he ends up just standing there for a little while, staring at her. When she pulls away, the only things he can focus on are her breathing and her reddened lips and the tear tracks underneath her big, watery eyes before he closes the distance and kisses her again, hungrily. She makes a small sound of surprise, but within the moment her lips move just as eagerly against his. His hands wrap around her back to hold her closer and she links her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair.

He makes a low sound of approval as he kisses her deeper, briefly catching her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing another kiss to her lips. She pulls away for just a second, her forehead against his, nose against nose, breathing heavily. “I need you,” she whispers, before she kisses him again, and that’s all he needs before he pushes them towards the door and scrambles to open it hastily, making their way in and pushing her against the door once they’re inside. His hands cup her face and he pushes into her for a passionate, rough kiss, pressing his growing erection against her as he makes her way down her cheek and to her neck.

“Bed. Now.” He growls against her throat, kissing hungrily and biting softly, just enough to leave a mark. The Doctor doesn’t hesitate for a second, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the bed, jumping right down on it and yanking him unceremoniously down over her.

He catches her lips again, kissing her roughly before finding his way down to her throat, continuing where he left off, teeth scraping against her skin. She gives a content moan and starts working on his vest and shirt, and eventually they halt briefly for him to pull his shirt off as she sits up and rests her hand against his bare chest as she kisses him again before he pushes her back down on the bed with a surprise yelp and pins her down with one hand, the other finding its way underneath her skirt as he kisses down her collarbone, making sure to leave his mark. His fingers linger there, teasing her for a bit before he rubs over her clit, revelling in the sound she makes. Eventually he slips a finger inside her, feeling how wet she is, then two as he starts to slowly push them in and out of her, circling her clit with his thumb at the same time. He smiles like a feral animal at the way she moves at his touch underneath his. She bites her lips and sighs heavily, her hands burying into the silk covers. He’s happy to watch her come right there and then but she stops him, sitting up slightly to press her lips to his again.

“Dress,” she says, panting, and he just replies with a low hum from his chest as he helps her turn around and starts to work on the corset, proving to be a task taking way too long, so he just tugs it hard enough to loosen. She turns to kiss him again, almost angry in its intensity as her hand starts yanking the dress down her arms. He helps push it down over her shoulders, hands quick to go to her breast as soon as they’re exposed, pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, wringing out a gasp from her. He grins – it’s fun how her body works this time around. One hand pushes her down again, and soon the dress is completely off and he takes a moment just to look at her, her flushed face and red nipples, legs spread underneath him. A smirk tugs at his lips. The Doctor scoffs. “Oh, fuck off,” she says, sitting up again to kiss him, hard as a hand goes to his chest. “Down,” she says.

“What?” The Master blinks, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Down,” she repeats, in a low voice. Her hand guides him roughly down on his back, holding him down with her hands on his chest, moving her leg over his body to straddle him, grinding down directly on his hard cock. A groan escapes his lips as she leans in to kiss his chest, biting and sucking on his skin. He jerks his hips impatiently up against her and she lets out a small huff of laughter, reaching down to take his cock and position herself over it, letting the tip brush just against her wet entrance. He licks his lip as she pushes herself down around him, breathing out deeply as he stares at her breasts and then at her parted lips. Slowly, she starts moving up and down, carefully getting used to the size. She leans forward to wrap one hand around his throat, squeezing lightly. He smiles and responds by putting his hands on her hips, digging his nails into the soft skin. Then she picks up the pace, grinding her hips down against him and he can’t help but moan as she tightens the grip around his throat.

She was always good at this, he thinks, but something is different this time. Maybe it’s the anger behind her eyes, or the hatred and possession and fire that’s always between them, this time her fingers wrap so tightly around his throat it feels like he may pass out or his respiratory bypass system will kick in, but he feels like letting her. He wants her to. The desperation and fire that courses through their veins edges at the other’s minds, unwilling to yield as she rides him. He feels tears collect in the corner of his eyes and he reaches with one of his hands to rub at her clit again, slowly working her up to a climax. He feels the walls around her contract around his cock as she comes loudly and digs her nails into the skin around his throat, and that’s enough to push him over the edge as he spills inside her with a deep groan.

She collapses down on top of him, partially sliding down beside him, her tits against his chest, and he slowly brushes the hair away from her face, breathing heavily, both covered in sweat and cum.

“Fuck,” he says as he breathes out, leaning his head back against the pillows. “That was good,” he says, feeling his hearts race away in his chest. He feels her smile against his chest and murmur something that sounds like a “yeah,” as he feels her mind fade towards unconsciousness.

He hates her and he loves her with all the burning rage and pain in his chest. _Burning, burning, burning, burning._ He almost can’t bear to look at her. _Onetwothreefour_. She burns brighter than Gallifrey.

They don’t really need to sleep that much. But he can tell she’s exhausted. _She burns, she burns, she burns._

He turns his head towards her, resting his on top of hers. She still smells the same. He buries his face into her hair, and after a while, they fall asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been really busy lately so haven't been able to update as often or respond to all comments! but here's a short lil chapter before we really get into it ;) please do keep commenting, i read them all and i really appreciate hearing what you think <33

The Doctor’s breath hitches in her throat as she wakes, flinching at the weight of the Master’s sleeping mind against hers. It rolls over her like waves, the fury and the hurt, always stirring in the deep, always burning. She looks up at him from where she leans against his chest, skin against skin and he’s so warm to the touch it almost feels like he’s on fire – the Doctor wonders when he got so close to the flame that he got burnt.

Probably when he was still a child, she thinks, raising her right hand that was resting against his stomach to reach for the Master’s face, gently tracing the lines of his facade, barely touching. He stirs a little to the touch and she holds her breath, standing completely still. His face is jagged and tired now. He’s not very different from the last time he saw him, tousled hair and well-kept beard, with the dark, dark circles underneath his eyes. The Master almost looks peaceful when he sleeps, she thinks, not as war-torn with no furrowed brows and only a slight frown to his lips.

The morning light shines in through the window, carefully casting its glow over the wooden floors and up on the edge of the bed. The Doctor turns her head to look at the dawning sun, squinting into the pale light. So peaceful, she thinks, and lets her hand briefly rest against the Master’s chest again before slowly sitting up by leaning her weight on her other hand, careful not to wake the beast. It’s must be merely hours since they fell asleep in the dark of the night, judging by the rise of the sun and the feeling in her gut. They don’t need as much sleep as humans do, but she has a feeling neither he has really been able to rest at all lately. The Doctor sighs and looks back at him again. She wonders if he’s ever going to let her help. _What are you going to do, Doctor? Fix him? You’re just as broken as he is_ , that voice says. She swallows and looks away, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

It’s been a long time since she’d been able to sit with him like this. Centuries, at least. She always has to be so guarded around him, putting up that hard shell that she’ll keep fronting no matter how many times he manages to put cracks in it. The Doctor can’t really put her finger on how it’s making her feel. She’s given him second chances time and time again and he keeps hurting her. Is this what it’s like when she doesn’t hurt him back? Is this what it’s like in a universe where they don’t hate each other?

She turns back to look at him again and is surprised to find his dark eyes looking at her. She instinctively tenses a bit, her mind racing as she tries to figure out what he wants. His eyes are glossy with sleep still, and she watches them closely as they roam her face.

“Morning,” his tired voice mumbles.

The Doctor blinks a few times as she realises that it might have been a bad idea to fuck her best enemy instead of being very, very cross with him for what he's done. “Right,” she says.

They sit in silence for a little while, his eyes barely open as she feels his mind ebb in and out of the realms of slumber, and she hates herself a little bit. There was a time when the last thing either of them would do was be that vulnerable in front of the other, she realises, letting out a little huff of air through her nose as she follows the rays of sunlight to where they’re coming from outside, shining through the trees. Unspoken words linger in the air between them, but the Doctor has no initiative to fight and scream right now. She can hear the trees rustle in the mellow wind along with the faint birdsong. They sound happy, she thinks, and smiles.

The Master carefully places a hand on her bare lower left side, just where the fading mark of the bullet wound is, the healing skin almost showing no sign of the injury, his thumb tracing the would-be scars. The Doctor looks back at him, glaring at the faint smile playing with his lips. She takes a sharp breath.

“What?” There’s a lot of defensiveness in her voice.

He keeps eye contact as his hand trails upwards to cup her naked breast. She scoffs, and starts laughing at the same time he does, shoving his hand away playfully.

“ _What?_ ” He counters with mirth in his tone, teasing her. “They’re nice. A bit small, maybe.”

“Oi,” she warns. That earns him a new playful shove, and he laughs as he lays back down into the huge pillows of the giant ornate bed, folding his hands behind his head as he looks her over with a hungry grin. The Doctor has never been shy with any of her bodies, considering how modest humans can be, but especially not with him. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. She just tilts her head and watches as he stretches and reaches his hand towards her. It’s an unspoken invitation, but she can feel it, _come here,_ and she thinks that she might, but she lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “I need to get dressed,” she sighs.

She can see the disappointment on his face and wonders if it is an act. He’s done _that_ before. “Care to help?”

Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor makes her way off the bed, reaching for the dress and steps into it, pulling it up over her body and sliding into the arms. The Master’s hands are instantly on her back, working on the threads needed to tie the corset. There’s a small pause as he hovers behind her, standing so close that she can feel his breath on her neck, and she wonders if he’s thinking about Missy. She would be. He still kisses like her, the Doctor thinks, hungry and possessive like he’s afraid she’ll run away any second.

He takes a deep breath and finishes what he’s doing with an extra tight pull, just for good measure. “All done,” he says quite smugly as she turns around to look at him. _Bastard_.

“Thanks,” she says, more like an afterthought, absently running her hand through her hair to smooth it out as it falls around her shoulders. The Master looks for his clothes discarded on the floor, and quickly gets dressed as soon as he finds them, the vest hanging unfastened over his shirt. The Doctor looks him up and down and furrows her brows. “You should get a wig,” she says.

He looks at her with absolute contempt. “Why?”

“To fit in. Obviously.”

It takes him a few seconds to shake his head and stare at her in disbelief, just the smallest smile on his lips. “Come on, dear. Let’s meet the royalty.”

The Doctor laughs. “The faster we find a way out of here, the better,” she says as she heads for the big doors, not noticing the sadness in the Master’s eyes, taking a moment before he follows her out into the halls.

They’re greeted by plenty of people with fur and silk dresses she’s certain they met last night, and servants cleaning up after the ruckus. The Master tries to stop her with a hand on her arm as she’s about to help a young boy pick up some glass shards from the floor, but she just shakes him off and gets down on her knees. “ _Doctor_ ,” he hisses, gesturing to the pair further down the hall. She looks up.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” she says to the servant boy, trying her best to gather the rest of the shards into one pile for him in one swift motion. “I’ll come back and help you later,” she says as the Master pulls her to her feet. The boy smiles at her.

In the distance they can hear the emperor and the empress talking.

“- I suppose so,” Catherine ponders to her husband as they approach them. “Oh, Doctor! Good morning.” The Doctor smiles back and gives a little wave, looking at Catherine’s elegant blue dress and Peter’s blonde wig and open morning robe, a huge pearl necklace over his chest.

“Ah, your friends. Hello again,” Peter says, smiling at the Doctor. “We were just talking to my mother,” he explains, gesturing to the glass case behind them. She turns to see what he’s talking about and has to blink a few times at the sight. An aged body, well, skeleton with mummified skin clinging to the bones, in a huge, beautiful red dress and pearl jewellery is placed upright inside the case, staring at them with very, very dead sockets. The Doctor opens her mouth and closes it again, unable to find words.

Catherine looks at her and then the emperor, then lowers her voice. “I think he would prefer not to talk about it. It seems rather painful.” The emperor nods in agreement.

“Right,” the Doctor says. “Well, she seems… lovely. What are two you up to?”

“I have men’s things,” Peter says as he starts walking, and all three of them follow suit. He looks at the Master. “You should come.”

“I’d love to,” the Master smiles with a wicked grin. _Don’t kill him_ , the Doctor nudges as she brushes her hand over his. _Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it_ , he says, and she rolls her eyes. In their path they bump into a lady from the court she recognises from yesterday, clad in a big purple dress. “Madame Georgina Dymov,” Peter greets her.

“Emperor,” she says with a sly smile, and then offers a smile to the Master as well, seemingly intending to keep walking. Peter halts her. “Take the empress and this lady Doctor to the other ladies and speak of hats.”

“Of course,” she replies instantly, only looking at the emperor. Catherine and the Doctor share a glance, dreading their future. Peter turns to the empress. “It may indeed be pleasant to have a wife,” he says, with a rather content smile, before reaching out to grab her tits for a few second with a satisfied chuckle. They all stand there a few seconds, unsure of what to do. “Yes,” he says, answering himself, “it is pleasant.” He elbows the Master again, expecting him to share his excitement. “Come." He leads the way as the Master shoots the Doctor one last glance before following him. The Doctor notices a feeling in her gut saying the next few hours are going to be incredibly unpleasant, and she curses this regeneration’s limitations.

Lady Georgina sighs. “Let us walk,” she offers, and they follow her as she leads them in the other direction.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are starting to happen now! make sure to let me know what you think ;))

Lady Georgina carries herself with such a poised elegance that makes the Doctor just as intrigued as uncomfortable by how well she’s able to present herself as so welcoming and so unbothered at the same time. The Doctor thinks this way of living might be just bearable, and that maybe they’ll find some sort of way to entertain themselves amongst the court.

“I will be your dearest friend and confidante,” Lady Georgina says as she leads them to one of the sitting rooms of the court. “You will need one. Most of the women have tongues in the shape of cat-o’-nine tails.”

Catherine turns her head to shoot the Doctor a worried glance before they enter the gold-panelled apartment with walls painted a shade of turquoise and red draped curtains. It’s filled to the brim with elegant women clad in big, beautiful dresses and ridiculous wigs who all launch into applause as the empress enters the room. They courtesy for her and around the three sounds a chorus of congratulations and praise directed at Catherine.

Lady Georgina looks back at her entourage, unsure in their steps. “Hats have just arrived from Paris. You must know all the latest.”

“Hats?” The Doctor says with a lot of faked enthusiasm. “I look great in a hat.” She reaches for one in a striking red colour with a big feather pinned to the side of it and puts it on, throwing her hands out to show Catherine. “Eh?”

The court look at her with shared unsure glances between them, much to Catherine’s amusement as she stifles a laugh. “You look stunning, my dear.”

“Actually-“ the Doctor continues- “I used to wear hats all the time before, top hats, fezzes, bowlers, you name it. Hats are great in a crisis. Wonder why I stopped,” she adds, more like an afterthought, placing her hands on her hips.

“Well,” Lady Gerogina interrupts with a very, very polite smile, “looks like there’s champagne being set outside. Shall we roll balls on the lawn?”

-

The Doctor soon realises that rolling balls on the lawn involves, well, rolling coloured balls onto the grass, then a courtly round of applause before the servants bring the balls back up and the course of events repeats for the rest of the afternoon. Instead of partaking in their little delightful ritual she decides to go snooping around the tents set in the courtyard, trying to overhear any idle chit-chat or most importantly, see if she can find the Master. Just to get rid of the boredom, of course. She finds a table set with refreshments in the middle of the tent and sneaks a cracker, stuffing it into her mouth in one bite. She looks up to see Marial watching her, amusement apparent on her face.

“Oh, hello,” she greets Marial with a big grin full of crumbs.

Marial smiles back. “Lady Doctor.”

She swallows down the rest of the snack. “Tell me, Marial, is there a quick way to get out of here? I fear what I might do if I have to watch those balls get thrown for another round.”

Marial looks at her with knowing eyes as she nods, before turning to Catherine. “Empress. You seem tired. Might I escort you back to your apartments?”

Catherine looks as if she had been handed a lifeline. “Indeed. I am.”

As the two of them follow Marial away from the tent, one of the ladies stands up from where she was sitting to halt them. “Marial, you speak out of turn. You must wait for the empress or one of the ladies of the court to address you. You cannot just speak.”

“You may rip my tongue from my foolish body, dear lady Svenska, or try to, and see what develops from there,” Marial answers immediately with a very pleasant smile and not a hint of modesty.

“Remember your place, Marial,” Lady Georgina shoots in, more a reminder than a threat. Marial sighs. “My apologies, ladies. Sometimes I… forget who I am.”

Lady Georgina stares at Lady Svenska until she sits down again, then she turns to Catherine. “Empress. Would you like Marial to escort you to your apartments?”

-

Catherine and the Doctor walk alongside Marial’s irritated pace, anger seeping from her even if she tries to hide all emotions from her face. The Doctor can tell something is off, staying completely silent on the lawn and just observing the exchange-

“You used to be a lady of the court, didn’t you?” The Doctor asks her. Marial sighs and stops, turning to look at the two.

“I was until recently, yes. My father fucked with the emperor, and so he made us all servants.”

“To humiliate you?” Catherine asks with sympathy.

“It was uncharacteristically clever of him.” Marial almost says the words with respect. “It serves as a standing warning to all the court; you could wake up tomorrow- shovelling _shit_.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor offers, and Marial scoffs. Catherine looks at her. “You best be careful then.”

“It is unfortunately not part of my nature.”

“If you are a servant,” Catherine says sternly, “your nature’s not relevant, and your insolence will get you beaten. I don’t want that.”

Marial thinks about that. “It is well put. I shall try.”

“Inside you are still a lady, albeit an angry one,” Catherine muses, and Marial struggles to contain her smile.

-

It’s getting late, the Doctor suddenly realises as nightfall has crept upon her in the dusty library, the only source of light left the burning candle at her side. She hasn’t really had the chance to have any time alone recently, so although her hands clench a surprisingly well-kept copy of Descartes, her mind is roaring elsewhere as she reads. Is this really what they have to do? Wait out the years until her TARDIS rematerializes, and with the luck she’s had recently - probably in 21th century England somewhere?

How many lives will they have to lead? How many friends will she have to watch die? Being immortal is a hell of a lot worse when you don’t have the possibility to run away from the consequences. _You left Jack like this_ , that voice says. _Why can’t you suffer the same fate?_

Honestly, she doesn’t know if she can take it. She’s already lost too much and too many. If she’s not there when it ends, it doesn’t actually have to. _You’re a coward, Doctor. Are you really worthy of that name?_

The Doctor sighs and closes her eyes, leaning her head back to rest against the chair. She feels powerless. Stars, the Master must be ecstatic seeing her like this, trapped like a bird in a cage. She curses him and his stupid plan – she still can’t figure out why he’s placed them here. He must have known she would have pressed the trigger. _What happened to the man who never would, Doctor?_ Sometimes she wonders if she could hate herself more if any of her previous regenerations could see her like this. So… angry, so full of hate. Funny, she thinks. She truly would make a good Dalek.

She closes the book and carefully throws it down on the floor with a soft thud. She considers finding the Master, although he’s probably off somewhere getting off with the rest of his new friends. Some long strands of loose hair fall back into her face, and she angrily tugs them behind her ear again. Nothing feels right anymore. She doesn’t feel like herself anymore – honestly, she doesn’t feel like anything and now she’s just so, so tired. It creeps from her core and out into her fingertips, this sluggish feeling she absolutely can’t stand. She’s had enough of this powerlessness.

The Doctor stands up from the chair, quickly blowing out the candle before exiting the room, heading straight for Catherine’s apartments with heavy steps. The halls are crowded with drunk partygoers and members of the court, but she just brushes past them. It doesn’t take long before she reaches the entry to the empress’ chamber and she gives a soft knock to the big door.

There’s no reply, so she tries again. Still nothing. The Doctor, lacking basic notions of privacy, slowly opens the door and finds the room empty. _Ah._ Sometimes she forgets the world doesn’t evolve entirely around her. She looks around the room, from the paintings and tons of books strewn everywhere to the mirror at the desk in the corner. The Doctor halts. It’s weird to see herself like this. This face looks tired. The dress makes her look so – feminine, and her hair is chaotic and way too long. Her eyes fall on the letter knife on the table.

She reaches out and takes it, carefully studying the intricate metal decorations in her hand. It seems sharp. For one second she almost considers – no. The Doctor sits down in front of the mirror and takes a big chunk of hair to the blade. She looks herself in the eyes and starts chopping it off, just beneath her ear. Slowly but surely, she makes her way around the crown of blonde hair, and in the end it’s probably a bit uneven, but back to the familiar bob. She puts the knife back on the desk, her hand a bit shaky from the tight grip, and runs her hands through her short hair. Finally, she thinks, as streaks of the bleak morning sun starts to rise through the window.

-

The Master was quick to learn that _men’s things_ involve drinking, fucking whores, hunting and fighting. Sometimes even throwing balls at the wall and catching them again, or the eventual war meeting with the generals. He also learnt that archbishop Archie is an annoying twat who preaches visions from God in his own best interest, general Velementov is an annoying strategist who is losing a war due to the childishness of the court, count Orlo can’t help but present himself as a meek, annoying virgin, and that the great emperor Peter is perhaps one of the most infuriating humans the Master has had to deal with to date.

Usually, because Time Lords have such an astonishing grip over their own anatomy, they won’t actually get drunk unless there’s ginger involved, but the Master decided that if he’s going to make it through the day without killing anyone with his bare hands, he’s going to let the alcohol raze through his system without making the smallest effort to stop it.

He follows the men of the court on their daily agenda, trying his best to steer away from Peter and instead making a better acquaintance with Grigor, whom he has started taking a liking to. The Master does not find him as annoying as all the others, and he quite likes the way he snakes his way through the court with his own best interests in mind. At night, they all get senselessly drunk at another festive gathering, which is apparently all these apes are good for. The Master gets to know Lady Georgina better, or George, as her friends call her, who has become increasingly fascinated by him.

“I am most intrigued by you,” she whispers into his ear, leaning her body against his and placing her hand on his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Traveling,” he answers, making eye contact with her husband over the room and smiling at his displeasure.

“Why are you so mysterious?” She teases, pressing a kiss behind his ear. “Do you want to tell me where you’re from?”

The Master scoffs and pushes her away. “No. Now go pester someone else, dear,” he dismisses her with a flick of his wrist and maybe just a touch of convincing hypnosis. She stands up abruptly and leaves him. He chuckles to himself, downing the rest of his glass, although his smile suddenly turns into a frown. Normally he’d probably fuck her just to piss off her husband, but it feels different now that the Doctor is here with him. He wonders where she is – he hasn’t seen her all day. He stands up and snatches another shot of vodka from a table nearby as the emperor approaches him, drinking it all and throwing the glass to the floor for Peter. “Huzzah!” He shouts, his grin more mischievous than not.

“Huzzah,” the emperor greets him back, a red flush to his cheeks and his wig slightly askew. “How are you finding it here? Jolly good fun, I suppose?”

“Of course. Nothing better than watching your people make absolute fools of themselves.”

It doesn’t appear Peter heard him as he continues on. “I’ve noticed my wife and yours are quite good friends. Needless to say, I think the two of us should be the same. I propose a dinner, just the four of us, tomorrow night. Then we can share our women. What do you say?”

The Master looks at Peter with a horrible smile, pretending to think about his offer. “I say, _emperor_ , if you even as much as lay a fucking _hand_ on her, I will tear your throat open with my _teeth_.”

Peter stills like that really wasn’t the answer he was expecting, losing all of his good demeanour. The Master does not care to hear his answer and stalks off, exiting the party and heading for their room, seething with rage. He reaches the apartments and for some reason, the Master apparently hoped the Doctor would be in their room when he shut the doors behind him in the silent hours of the night. Except, not as silent with the excited and drunken yells from the court in the distance. He clenches his fists as he paces back and forth on the floor, disappointed that the Doctor isn’t here. He wants to make sure she’s safe, and he wants to scream his frustration over those stupid bloody creatures she loves so much. He takes a deep breath through his nose and sighs, sitting down on the bed with a heavy thud as he kicks his shoes off, leaning back on the bed as he lets the alcohol take over his senses and forces himself to drift off to sleep.

-

He jolts awake when the doors open, sitting upright, his body relaxing once he sees the familiar shape of the Doctor in the morning light. He rubs his face and tries to clear his mind as the drunken fog slowly fades. He looks over at her, blinking a few times.

“You cut your hair,” he says with a groggy voice, mildly surprised.

The Doctor looks at him with indifference. “Yes.”

“You… cut your hair.”

“And?” She now looks somewhat annoyed.

“I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.” The Master slowly stands up, resting his hand on the bedpost for support, looking at the uneven cut. She looks kind of crazed, he thinks, but in a good way. She doesn’t feel as docile. “It’s… nice. Could have done better in the back, though. But it suits you.”

The Doctor rolls her eyes and starts searching the room. “Sure. Marial left another dress for me in here.”

“Which one is that?” He asks with genuine curiosity as he sits back down on the bed. “The servant girl with a sharp tongue?”

The Doctor ignores him as she finds it carefully draped over a chair in the corner. “Come on, what did I do now?” He mockingly laughs, gesturing with his hand before he places it on his knee. She says nothing as she starts tugging at the threads of her corset, quickly shrugging her dress off, standing naked in the pale light of the room. He tilts his head as he looks at the curve of her body as she steps into the new dress, made of pale light blue cotton with embroidered blue flowers on it. If she knows he’s staring, she doesn’t seem to mind. She gets her arms into the sleeves and struggles with the corset on the back. “I need help,” she sighs, and the Master smiles.

“Come here then,” he says, extending a hand to her. She steps closer and carefully takes it, and he carefully pulls her closer, step for step, until her legs are against his knee. “You’re very beautiful, Doctor,” he says eagerly, as his other hand snakes its way to her waist, slowly making its way to her open back.

She lets go of his hand and turns around, much to his disappointment. “Just do the back, would you?” She asks sullenly, and so he does.

-

The Doctor leans over a balcony with a view over the courtyard, watching the Master converse with Grigor and Lady Georgina down on the lawn, squinting with the sun in her eyes. She senses Catherine from a long way away, before eventually hearing her footsteps as they come closer.

“That’s quite a peculiar haircut, my dear friend,” she says as she approaches the sulking Doctor leaning her head on her arms folded on top of the railing, giving her only a dismissive wave of her hand in response.

“Are you not happy, Doctor?” Catherine asks as she joins her on the balcony.

“ _Me?_ Are you kidding, Cath? I’m grand. I-“

“I mean, with your husband.”

The Doctor’s face falls into a frown. “Oh, _that_. Well, it’s – it’s complicated,” she says, turning her head to look at the empress.

Catherine scoffs. “I’m finding this whole marriage ordain quite complicated, to be frank with you, my dear friend.”

“Ah,” the Doctor can’t help but smile at that, “it often is. I think yours is going to be harder than most.” Catherine looks puzzled at her. “Why is that?”

The Doctor winces at the small slip. “Er, no reason in particular. Just – you know. Empress and all that.” She makes another dismissive motion with her hand to cover it up.

“I am just the emperor’s wife, Doctor.”

“You say that now. Just wait for what the future has in store for you.”

“You’re very silly, my friend.”

“So they say,” the Doctor smiles again and turns her gaze back to the courtyard. “Thank you, by the way. For letting us stay here.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely my pleasure. Trust me, I’m glad I have a friend here. Although – you never told me where you were going in the first place.”

“Ah, nowhere special. Just traveling.” Those familiar words tumble from the Doctor’s lips with ease. She’s not technically lying, just telling a version of the truth.

The empress looks at her with a restless smile, looking like so many of those starry-eyed companions of hers she couldn’t resist bringing into the TARDIS just to experience the universe with them. “Where were you going?”

“Well, I guess we really weren’t going anywhere. Just away, I suppose.”

“From what?”

It takes almost a minute before the Doctor closes her eyes briefly and sighs as she decides to be honest for once. “…Home.”

Catherine looks at her with sad eyes. She can tell it’s still sore from how the Doctor’s eyes seem to be somewhere completely else, her small and youthful form suddenly so, so old. Manners thought her not to pry, but she would like to think of the Doctor as her friend. “- Do you miss it?”

The Doctor swallows. She hasn’t really had time to think about any of this. She was standing there in the ruins with him and it was only _loss and destruction and who are you aren’t you supposed to be the doctor who ARE you who are you if you don’t know who you are doctor_ and then _fire and more fire and burning burning burning_ and then he was gone and all she could think about was _him him him him him find him find him you HAVE to find him without him you don’t know who you are if you can’t find him if he’s DEAD are you even a doctor?_ And then he found her she hasn’t really been able to process any of it. She can feel the universe and time itself in her blood all the time, it’s starting to feel like a faint prickling to her fingers now and she’s starting to feel numb _why is he here why are you here doctor are you a doctor?_

She takes a deep, deep breath, and thinks about what has been her home. The beautiful glass dome, the setting twin suns over the silver trees and those two boys running ever so fast through that red, red grass that is just ashes now. “I do,” she says, with a lot of sincerity for a liar. “Very much. Although I don’t really know if it ever was my home to begin with. Actually, I didn’t really feel like I belonged there at all. Not like any of that matters now, anyway.”

“What happened?”

“There was a – a big, big fire. Razed everything to the ground. It’s all ruins and embers now,” she says solemnly.

“I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wasn’t your fault.”

“Whose was it?”

The Doctor’s eyes dart back to the Master in the middle of a conversation with Grigor, laughing heartily. “Doesn’t matter. But stars, look at me, blabbering on. What about you, Cath? How do you find it here?”

“It’s different every hour. The first I find myself homesick, then the next I feel like I’ve never lived anywhere else my whole life. And Peter, well, he is a mercurial fellow. I never really know what he might do.”

The Doctor looks at her with concern in her eyes. “Are you afraid of him?”

“No,” Catherine says after considering the matter thoroughly. “I was, a little. But I think I know how to survive him now. Although I do not know the same of this land. I fear it might kill me if I stay. I miss home.”

The Doctor reaches out to take her hand, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You’re strong, Cath. I know you’ll make it.”

The empress smiles at her, and the Doctor wants to show her the universe.

“I would like to be useful to Russia,” Catherine says, placing both her hands on the railing as she takes in the beautiful view. “To help it greatness.”

“What do you want to do?” The Doctor asks with genuine curiosity. If she’s going to be stuck here, she can at least help her in every way.

“Well, I am no doctor like you, but I thought that perhaps I could help in education. Teach women here to read.”

The Doctor looks at her with a big grin. “I think you’re going to be amazing, Cath.”

Catherine thanks her and kisses her cheek. Oh, she’s definitely flirting. They stand beside each other in silence for a while, basking in the sun.

“Can I ask you a question, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

“ _Are_ you happy with your husband?”

“Oh, uh, well, I – er,” the Doctor starts as the empress rushes to explain.

“I just – I am asking because I am afraid that my marriage will turn sour as a bitter apple. I don’t want to be unhappy in this life here.”

“ _Oh_ , my dear Cath. It’s hard to explain. We – we haven’t been on the best of terms.”

“What happened?”

“Uh, we were, er, we – actually, we’d been in a fight,” the Doctor starts to explain, and she finds it very strange that she actually wants to be _honest_ , for once. “Quite a big one, actually, it’s been going on for a long time, and then one day he disappeared, and I was absolutely certain he’d – that he had left me for good. Then one day he showed up again, just like that. I didn’t really know what to do, I just… I just knew I couldn’t be away from him. No matter how angry I was.”

The empress takes her hand again, holding it tight.

“He’s all I have left. I really don’t know what I’d be without him.” The Doctor catches the Master’s gaze looking up at her from the lawn. “I’m still really, really cross with him, though.”

-


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter ten aka the gang (aka the doctor and the master) get up to hijinks and have a much needed chat
> 
> thank you for all your wonderful comments! they really make my day and make me want to keep on writing this story ^^<333

“This will be my school,” Catherine says proudly to Marial and the Doctor following close behind. “Peter thought it would be a wonderful idea.”

Marial scoffs. “Did he, now?”

“Well, he hoped the whole thing would stop me from bothering him,” the empress says without loss of spirit, “which I guess is correct. This will be a great beginning for Russia’s bright future.” She gestures to the rather dilapidated, run down little cottage, once stood proudly on the very outskirts of the estate.

The Doctor scrunches her nose. “Not very great right now, though, is it?”

Catherine lifts her skirts to brace the stairs which make a creaking noise. “We will paint it. Brighten it up,” she says as she bends down to look inside through a fogged window. The Doctor leans down right beside her, squinting through the glass before she stands up again. The empress beams. “Some chairs will be brought over from the palace.”

Marial looks at her tentatively. “May I… learn?”

“You must,” Catherine says immediately, earning a smile on Marial’s face. “Come along, please, let us get started.” She heads down the stairs again and back towards the palace, a completely elevated change in her attitude. There’s hope in her eyes, the Doctor thinks, and follows the two.

Catherine turns to Marial as they walk. “Where is the library?”

“The what?” Marial looks at her, rather puzzled.

“Well, books. We must have books. And perhaps we can have talks on ideas,” she muses with a big grin, touching the Doctor’s arm. “There’s a whole new fire in my heart.”

The Doctor looks at her with a smile, it’s simply impossible not to match her enthusiasm. “Actually,” she says, “I know where the books are.”

-

The Doctor almost reaches the library after talking to Marial before a hand grabs her by the waist and tugs her around the corner, wringing a yelp from her lips. “Oi!” She shouts at the Master pinning her against the wall, swatting at his hand on her hip.

“What do you want?” She asks with a roll of her eyes.

He looks at her with a tense jaw and furrowed brows, clearly agitated. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m busy.”

He laughs. “Busy? Running around with these peasants building schools is _busy?_ ”

“What’s your problem? Did you want to play house, maybe? Be a lovely little couple going about our day? Need I remind you; I _don’t_ want to be here. _Especially_ not with you. I’m just trying to fill my time until we can get out of here with something _useful_.”

The Master closes his eyes as he breathes heavily out through his nose, swallowing thickly. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he says, tilting his head as he clenches his hands into fists and releasing them again.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Actually, this is the _ideal_ get-away I planned for my weekend off, being stuck in bloody _Russia_ with a short-tempered _mass murderer_ -”

“Shut up!” He shouts as his hand goes for her throat, ramming her harder into the wall. The Doctor scoffs and holds herself as tall as she can, her fingers trying to intercept his solid grip.

“This is nice, isn’t it,” she says as casually as possible, raising her eyebrows with a little scrunch to her nose, looking frantically between his eyes. “Reminds me of Paris. Loved it there. Beautiful in the spring.”

The fire in the pit of his stomach _burns_ and he bares his teeth at her and lets her go suddenly with a low growl and a distraught shake of his head. She sinks back against the wall, holding onto her sore neck, breathing heavily as he looks at her with crazed eyes before he closes the distance between them by taking her face in his hands and kissing her. She’s quick to respond, kissing him back almost violently, gripping her hands into his shirt to pull him closer. He digs his fingers into her skin, feeling she’s really _there_ as she moans into the kiss. They stay like that for a little while, just the two of them in a darkened corner, far away from anyone else.

The Master is the one who breaks them up, letting his lips linger just above hers. The Doctor makes a sound of displeasure and tries to lean towards him again, but he shoves her backwards to get her away from him before stalking off with heavy steps, leaving her there against the wall.

He hates the way she makes him feel, _doctor doctor doctor_ , _burning burning burning_ , she scorches him wherever she touches and fuels the rage bubbling underneath his skin. His fingers almost unnoticeably go to his lips, gently tracing the shadow of where she kissed him, feeling her still. It would be so much easier if they could just return to the scheming and killing and foiling of plans. He hates her and everything she stands for, he really does. But he can’t bring himself to stay away.

He’d be nothing without her. The Master doesn’t know what he’d do – all he wanted was to be her equal, and for just a single moment, he wanted her to be his, too. Everything would have been so much easier if she’d just ended it on Gallifrey. _Stupid stupid stupid doctor_. He’s so bloody _tired_. It just never ends. The Time Lords deserved what they got – he laughed when they burned. It was almost too easy. It was truly beautiful, all the pretty shapes in the smoke. He just wanted the Doctor to hurt as much as he did.

He makes his way to the strategy room, anger seething through his veins. He pushes the doors open without waiting for the servants, striding inside with mad confidence. He snatches a glass of vodka and downs it upon his entrance, before throwing it to the ground, watching all the small shards of glass pile over the floor. “Huzzah,” he says mockingly, smiling mischievously at all the men watching him and glancing nervously over to the emperor.

Peter eyes him carefully for a few seconds, the room seemingly holding its breath, before he accepts the challenge. “Huzzah,” he greets, “Jolly good timing. Join us,” he says, gesturing to the war board. The Master takes the invitation and plumps down into a chair not too far away. He casts a quick glance over the miniatures on the board, supressing a chuckle.

“I can win this for us,” General Velementov says to the group with confidence.

The emperor looks at him impatiently. “So, do.”

“On another matter,” Count Orlo says with a slight smile, “may I commend the emperor on his decision to allow the empress a school.”

“I make women happy, Orlo.” Peter sits down into his chair at the top of the board. “Sometimes they yelp, like new-born puppies. It’s a lovely thing. You should try it, if your cock ever finds its way out of your hand and into a woman,” he adds, earning a burst of laughter from the group.

The Archbishop takes a step closer to speak to the emperor. “I’d like to approve the texts she wishes to teach. She may be new ideas from the west,” he says with concern.

“I agree,” the Master shoots in with a grin, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. “The fact that _women_ will be a part of this is a risky choice, emperor,” he says casually, basking in the way all their faces drain of colour.

“ _Women?_ ” The Archbishop says, eyes wide.

Peter leans forward in his chair. “ _What?_ ”

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have there?” The Master throws his hands into the air, acting innocent. “ _Oops_.”

-

That night, the flames from the little cottage on the outskirts of the estate is visible all the way to the palace. The Doctor lost Catherine as the she ran to her would-have-been school and the Doctor decided to retreat to the library instead. She turns a page where she sits cross-legged on the floor between two bookshelves, leaning against a wall.

“I know you’re there,” The Doctor says out into the room with a soft sigh as she looks at him with bleary eyes and heavy hearts, voice low and tired, body exhausted waiting for the Master’s shadow against the doorframe to move. He does, slowly, unfolding his arms as he saunters towards her small crook of the room. The Doctor scoots a little to the side, making space for him as he sits down beside her.

“What are you reading?” He asks. She hands him the copy and looks at him.

“Dante’s Inferno,” she says, smiling. He scoffs, looking over the book in his hands. “Y’know, waiting like this is hell, so might as well just read about it.”

He furrows his brows, opening it to the first pages, looking at the evocatively detailed artwork. “I suppose.”

The Doctor lets the tip of her boots hit together a few times as he studies the picture. She looks back up at him. “Read to me?”

He scoffs again. “Where were you?”

“Dunno.” She shrugs. “I dog-eared it.”

“I always hated it when you did that,” he says, flipping through the old pages to look for where she left off.

The Doctor laughs. “I know. One time you tore my entire book in half just to prove your point.”

He shows no sign of remorse. “All the pages were bent over and wrecked anyway, dear.”

“ _Ruined!_ How was I supposed to explain that at school?”

He clears his throat, holding the carefully folded corner of the page between his fingers. “ _Love_ ,” he starts, “which permits no loved one not to love, took me so strongly with delight in him that we are one in Hell, as we were above-”

The Doctor’s gaze drifts to the window, watching the fire light up the dark and the smoke trailing up towards the night sky. The stars are beautiful tonight. She misses them. _Run, Doctor, run run run._ Her hands toy with the hem of her skirt as she looks up the universe she misses so dearly. There's a weird feeling, she thinks, sitting next to the very Time Lord who burnt down their home. Not that the title means anything anymore.

“Love led us to one death,” The Master reads slowly, in a low voice. “In the depths of Hell Caïna waits for him who took our lives.”

-

At the same time, Catherine enters the cellar looking for her husband, out of breath from running through the courtyard.

“They burned down my school,” she shouts, making her way into the room filled to the brim with the drunken men of the court. “You must seek justice. Wreak havoc upon them!”

Peter looks rather calm. “Oh, you did not say this school was for girls.”

“Did I not?” She stops in her tracks.

“No.”

“Yes!” She throws her hands through the air. “Women here cannot read.”

“And they shall not,” he says, standing up. “Women are for seeding, not reading. Pithy,” he realises, amused. He turns to the group. “Gents, I said women are for seeding, not reading.” They all break into laughter.

The empress stills completely as she realises, anger shadowing her usually soft features. “…You burned my school down.”

“I did,” the emperor states matter-of-factly. “Well, you may go. I forgive you, of course, as I am of gentle heart and massive cock.” He laughs to himself before turning to the group again. “Gentlemen, I said I am of gentle heart and massive cock.” They all break into laughter again.

She looks at him with tears in her eyes. “You are disgusting-”

“You don’t lie to me again!” The emperor shouts as he throws his glass at her, Catherine managing to duck out of the way just in time. “Oh, you are admirably quick,” he says, a little impressed. “Huzzah!” He shouts, the court responding with equal amounts of gusto. The empress leaves as her tears threaten to fall.

-

The next afternoon Marial looks at the Doctor with a tilt of her head. “You are restless, Lady Doctor.”

“I am,” the Doctor says as she helps her clean the rooms of the apartments. “I haven’t been in one place this long for a very long time. I’m not exactly made for rolling coloured balls on the lawn.”

Marial smiles. “I can tell.”

They both look up as the doors open and Catherine enters the room.

“Empress!” Marial exclaims in annoyance. “I thought you were going to be late for the party.” Catherine rolls her eyes just the slightest.

“There’s always a party,” the Doctor says with a wave of her hand. “Where have you been?”

Catherine looks at her with a grateful smile. “I have been lying in the sun,” she answers plainly. “There, I am happy. I imagine myself floating in the sky, far away from here.”

The Doctor walks over to her and takes her hand. “I’m sorry about the school.”

“Yes. I fear it has gotten my spirit down,” Catherine says, giving her hand a little squeeze. “This is all very heavy on my heart. I am married to someone who does not love me.”

“He _is_ quite the bastard,” Marial adds, rushing them towards the washroom.

Catherine sniffs. “And he is my husband. I am starting to understand your feelings towards staying here, Doctor. I fear I cannot do so either.”

-

The party is the same as all the other parties, gatherings of members of the court, Catherine’s wedding gift: the bear, and plentiful of alcohol and primitive earth drugs. The emperor is busy off in the end of the room on a small raised podium being shown some new weapons with ground-breaking technology. Sometimes he shoots somewhere in the room, and the court jumps and applauds. They do not seem to mind.

“Do you think he’s going to kill someone?” The Master asks with an intrigued expression, trying to humour the Doctor. She just groans. “I personally think that would be great fun.”

She snatches the glass of wine from his hands with an annoyed scoff and tilts her head backwards to down it all in one go. She makes a disgruntled grimace and shakes her head. “Horrible.”

The Master laughs, peering at her. Her eyes are bloodshot and there’s big circles underneath her eyes. He looks away, scouring the crowd. “Do you think our dear Catherine is having fun?”

The Doctor stands up on her toes to look for her. Her face stands out on the other end of the room, looking sourly. The empress looks completely out of place, trying to avoid as many partygoers as possible. The Master smiles as Doctor places the glass down on a nearby table, brushing some hair behind her ear. “I think I’m gonna go get some air,” she says loudly over the music, already heading out.

The Master doesn’t say anything, suddenly distracted as the emperor shoots a soldier in the leg, his entourage cheering. The Master grins.

On the opposite side of the room, Catherine looks for the Doctor, but she can’t seem to find her anywhere, desperate for a friend. There’s so much noise everywhere, people filling the halls. She slowly makes her way across the crowd, and eventually she reaches the tame bear, stroking its soft fur gently. It calms her mind a little bit. Count Orlo carefully joins her. “Shall we walk in the garden, empress?”

“Yes.” She smiles at him, thankful. “I could use a pause from this-”

Catherine and Orlo jolts back as a gunshot is fired at the bear’s neck, collapsing in front of them with a growl. Peter laughs madly through the smoke as Catherine stares at her dying wedding present in shock and disbelief, the court applauding and chattering.

She looks up at her husband.

“Oh, dear, someone’s cross,” Peter says to Grigor, rolling his eyes when he notices her stomping towards him. “Good shot, huh?” He tries humorously as Catherine tramps up to the small raised podium and looks him in the eye, standing tall before she slaps him hard across the face and turns on her heel, leaving the room amongst the complete silence of the court.

They all look at each other, then at their ruler, unsure of what to do. He cracks his neck and sighs. “Resume the fun, everyone,” the emperor says with an annoyed gesture of his hand, and storms after her.

Peter follows her into the library, finding her crying against a bookshelf, knees to her chest. He sits down on a chest across from her. He sighs again, putting his hands on his knees. “We’ve got problems, haven’t we?” Catherine just stares at him. “You’re the only person who has not loved me. It is inconceivable to me and says nothing good about you.”

“- If you had shown me an ounce of kindness,” she says with disdain, tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. “I was ready with a heart full of love.”

He looks around hesitantly, unsure how to respond. “You look really pretty,” he tries.

“My heart is breaking,” she sobs. “I miss home. I’m lonely for family, friends, fun, ideas, strawberries.”

Peter looks at her blandly. “And I need my cock sucked.”

“ _What?_ ” She stares in disbelief through tears.

“Well, we’re sharing, right, our needs?”

“Just let me go home. _Please_.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He gives a shrug. “Strawberries, I’ll work on.”

Catherine sniffs, holding her face in her hands. Peter points a finger at her. “I mean, you know your problem? You have _no_ idea how lucky you are. Soldiers are dying.”

“ _Because_ of you,” she scorns.

“Serfs beaten daily.”

“You could stop that! If you would just read these books with me,” she says, shakily getting to her feet, “these ideas that are sweeping Europe: justice, humanity, every man a valued soul. We could rule Russia in a different manner-”

“No, _I_ rule. You _serve_. Is it that difficult to understand? Look, I am mostly kind to you. Do I beat you?”

“I suffer the blows of your disdain daily,” she looks up at him, baring her teeth.

“It’s not the same as actual blows, though, is it?”

“Well-”

“What, you don’t know?” He asks her, giving her a second before he grips her shoulder to hit her hard in the stomach, making her double over with a shout, wheezing as she slowly grapples down to the ground.

“Well, compare and get back to me,” Peter says as he heads towards the doors, leaving her on the floor. He halts and turns to look down at her. “You will be happy,” he says. “You will die here in content old age, haven given me hours of pleasure and service, and many heirs. Boys, preferably.”

He stands there for a few seconds, before kneeling down to her at the floor. “I do have a temper. And some rage. You cannot cross me. Especially not in front of others, or you will pay. Endlessly. And you’ll never win. You’ll just be in pain.” The emperor stands up and that and leaves. She leans back, sitting on the floor, breathing heavily.

-

It’s the middle of the night when the Master enters their room only lit by burning candles, finding the Doctor sprawled in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“You left early,” he remarks, looking at her nightgown. “Missed a lot of fun.”

“I can’t sleep,” the Doctor says quietly. “I get these dreams – Whenever I try to, I get these thoughts and I can’t shake them off.”

He looks at her as she sits up, her troubled expression washing the amused expression off of his face.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you did. - And I can’t stop thinking about what I did. Or thought I’d done. Whatever.”

For a split second, he's there again, feeling the heat against his skin, the screams as ash fall through the air.

“All the fire… All the burning.” The Doctor closes her eyes, recalling the constant image of their home in ruins vividly. “Did you know I counted how many children there were?”

The Master doesn’t answer.

“I counted them all. And now I’ve forgotten.” She almost looks a bit amused, like she’s sharing a funny inside joke with herself. “I think I might’ve lived too long,” she says, silently. The beats of her hearts go one-two-three-four.

He walks towards her, slowly reaching the end of the bed, sitting down carefully. The Doctor swallows. “I searched for you for years, you know.” She says, scratching her neck, like a nervous tick. “Went a bit off the rails.”

“So I heard.”

“Yeah. All that time I… I just couldn’t get it out of my head.” She bites her thumb. It’s almost off-putting to see her so out of her habitat, he thinks, without all of that instilled confidence and natural charisma. “I dunno – without you, I’ve got nothing.”

 _The lonely god_ , he thinks, _in all her glory_. He brushes his hand against her, her sadness washing over him like a bottomless ocean. The self-imposed saviour complex makes him a little bit sick. He looks at her.

“Why didn’t you give up?”

The Doctor takes a long time to respond, turning her head to face him. “…Because we’re friends. Or we used to be. It has count for something.”

 _And they took it all away from us._ The Master looks firmly at the ground beneath his feet, hands clenching into fists. There’s that burning sensation again, pooling at his core, so quick to numb all his senses. “- I _had_ to,” he says through gritted teeth, seething with rage as his voice slowly picks up in intensity. “I had to make them _pay_.”

The Doctor can’t bring herself to look at him. It’s a horrible feeling, she thinks bitterly, to not have anywhere to return to anymore. She didn’t even visit, after restoring it in its little pocket universe. It was enough just having the comfort of a home, no matter how she felt about it. Now they’re back at square one, nothing but empty pockets and the oldest promise in the universe.

She swallows. “I know,” she says quietly. It’s barely a whisper. She reaches out and tentatively places a hand on his side, moving closer. “Is it okay if I-?”

He doesn’t say anything, so the Doctor wraps her arms around him from behind, slowly, pressing a kiss to the where the bottom of his neck meets the shoulder. Her lips are soft against his skin before she rests her forehead against the nape of his neck.

The Master can feel her face furrow against his back. Somehow, he doesn’t have to see it to know exactly what it looks like, all scrunched up with concern as she tries to make sense of everything spinning inside her head. He smiles to himself.

“You could have just asked, y’know. Instead of trying to steal my TARDIS.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, love?” A wicked grin plays with the Master’s lips as he turns around to look at her face to face, taking hold of her wrists. He slowly backs her down into the bed without protest, pinning her under him.

She looks up at him and raises her eyebrows, as if posing a challenge, asking a question that’s been burning in her skull for a long time. “Did you really want me to do it? On Gallifrey?”

“Certainly would have made things a lot easier.”

“I don’t want to die with you,” she says, and he thinks that she may not actually be lying, for once. “I want you to live with me.”

The Master scoffs and makes a grimace, tightening the grip on her wrists. “You sound just like that awful, pinstriped regeneration of yours. Always had to be so bloody sanctimonious.”

She cocks her head a little to the side, tilting her chin up just the slightest to look at him with a suspicious glare. Question time galore today, apparently. “Why are you still here?”

“Why are you?” The Master counters immediately. “I know you’d be able to fashion a new god-awful screwdriver out of… _something_ here, if you wanted.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know where to go. Everything’s changed.”

“- Not everything.” He leans down closer to her, feeling her breath on his lips. There’s something so intoxicating about having the most powerful being in the universe at his fingertips. “Say my name,” he offers, and watches her consider it, that old fire lit in her eyes again.

Her tongue darts over her bottom lip before a smile toys with her features.

“… _Master_ ,” the Doctor sneers like she’s been waiting for it all her lives, and he breaks the distance between them, kissing her hard and passionately.

She immediately kisses back just as hungrily, pressing her small body against his as he lets go of one of her hands to press it between her legs, making her sigh into his mouth. Her free hand tangles through his hair with a firm grip as he kisses roughly down to her neck, letting his teeth graze her skin. She pulls him closer with a moan. “Hurt me like we used to,” she whispers, and he smiles before sinking his teeth into her skin.

-

The next morning Marial joins Catherine where she sits underneath a tree in the pale morning light. “Are you alright, empress?”

Catherine looks at her with dead eyes. “I need you to help me escape this place.”

Marial shakes her head with wide eyes, tutting. “I would be signing my own death warrant.”

“A carriage is all I need-” The two women look at each other with a lot of soreness before Marial eventually gives her a small, determined nod.

-

Later, the Doctor wound up at a tea party with some of the ladies when she just wanted to explore the palace a bit. She chatters happily with Georgina about all the fun at last night’s party until Marial enters the room, very late, finding her place silently in the back. The Doctor excuses herself from the conversation and quickly hurries over. She pulls her aside, shamefully covering the marks from last night with her hand when Marial snickers. “Where’s Catherine?” She half-heartedly tries, hoping to change the subject.

Marial leans in. “I just helped the empress escape in a wooden box addressed for Austria,” She tells her proudly in a low voice so no one else can hear. “What a rush.” The Doctor opens her mouth, surprised, and shuts it again as she doesn’t really know how to react. She shifts her weight between her feet, luckily saved by someone in the court exclaiming.

“Oh, look,” a woman says, pointing out the window. The Doctor hurries over, seeing a group of men riding at full speed towards the forest, the emperor at the front.

The Doctor feels all the blood leave her face, connecting the dots. “Oh, _no_ , nonono, no-” she mutters to herself as she breaks through the gathering of people and hurries down the stairs to the entrance, desperately looking for something, anything. Nothing can ever be easy, can it? The stables are too far away. Of course the stables are too far away. The Doctor takes a deep breath, curses, and starts running.

It’s not far, she can sense it, but she knows they’ll get there before her on horses, and she dreads what the emperor might do. She reaches the woods and runs through trees and the damp ground, everything around her shades of green and yellow. The air of the cold autumn is brisk on her skin.

She can see figures in the distance. “ _Stop!_ Please!” The Doctor yells as she runs, holding her skirts in her hands to avoid tripping. Step for step she feels her body hit the ground as she sees two guards lowering the chest into the river, sprinting as fast as she can towards the group of men watching all of it happen. “Get her _up_!”

She races into the water, boots sinking in the mud as the cold water washes over her legs. “ _Why_ aren’t you _doing_ anything?!” She shouts at the two men holding the box underneath water, staring at them with despair and burning, burning rage as they unsurely glance back at the emperor. The Doctor turns on her heel, making her towards him with all the force of the oncoming storm. “ _Stop_ it, for _fuck’s_ sake,” she hisses, shoving Peter backwards with a lot of strength that should be alarming to a human, “ _let her go_ or I _will_ -”

The Doctor doesn’t get to finish the sentence as Peter uses the step backwards as leverage to lunge forwards and punch her in the face, hitting just beside her eye where the cheekbone meets the temple, throwing her off balance as light flashes over her vision. Her hand instantly flies to her face. A sharp, stinging pain spreads right between her eyes as her head snaps back. She can feel the area start to swell, all the blood coursing through her veins. It doesn’t really hurt, she thinks, _keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_ , feeling alarmingly awake as adrenaline rushes through her body. There’s a ringing noise in her ears.

“Great. Thought that would shut you up,” the emperor says with a demeaning smile. The Doctor takes a deep breath through her nose and looks at Peter with blurred eyes, feeling dizzy. She stares at him with disgust.

“You’re a repulsive _fuck_ -”

Even with her superior reflexes, she’s too disoriented to stop him when he grabs her by the shoulder and knees her hard in the stomach, almost activating her respiratory bypass in the process. It feels like she’s going to throw up, her hands instinctively going to wrap around her front as she doubles over, hearing her hearts beat loudly at her temples like a call to war. It’s almost like time slows down for a few seconds as she gasps for air and feels the sensation spreading across her face and stomach. It burns a little and there’s a bitter taste in her mouth, but it still doesn’t really _hurt_ as much as it sets her off course.

Shock and anger numb her senses as Peter uses his grip on her shoulder to get her back upright and hit her again, this time above her mouth, just striking her nose. She feels her lip split against the sharper edge of her teeth, rendering a bitter taste in her mouth as she staggers backwards and falls to the ground. Her nose starts to swell as dark orange blood starts running. Her head is _ringing_ _ringing ringing_ , _onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour_ , dual hearts drumming against her skull.

“ _You will not_ speak to me like that. _No one_ speaks to me like that,” Peter says, very offended, brushing off his coat with a scoff. “I am a truly well-respected and loved emperor.” The Doctor’s face scrunches as she tries to get up, her body tense.

“ _One_ more word and I’ll let her drown, Doctor.” He raises his eyebrows like it’s a challenge, looking at her with expectant eyes. She stares at him but eventually shuts her mouth as she looks away and closes her eyes, letting the darkness ease her mind as it leaves only the drumming left. The emperor smiles. “That’s what I thought. Enough,” he gestures to the guards in the water, finally lifting the chest above air and sounding Catherine’s cries as they drag her to the riverbank, kicking the box over. The empress tumbles out on the sand with the rest of the water washing over her, heaving as she gathers her surroundings and glares at her husband with so much absolute _rage_.

The Doctor rushes to her, taking her face in her hands. “Are you okay?” She whispers, voice a bit hoarse. Catherine manages to nod in response, still gasping for air and dripping with water. “Stars, I’m so sorry, Cath,” the Doctor says as she takes her hand, the other one digging into the cold ground for support. Catherine looks back up to the emperor, staring down at her with an irked, but almost amused smile before he speaks to the group of guards.

“Escort the empress and her… _friend_ back,” he says as he looks at his wife with discontent, before turning and going to his horse without another word. The guards do as he commands.

-

The light shines in through the window, coating the empress’ quarters in a pale glow. Catherine looks at Marial with a tired face.

“Ever since I was a child, I felt like greatness was in store for me. A great life, I felt. Like God himself had spat me forth to land on this Earth and in some way transform it. That I was here for a reason. A purpose.”

Marial tilts her head. “Why did he make you a woman then?”

“For comedy, I guess,” she scoffs. “That idea now feels like some delusion when I’m trapped here. Yet I felt it, Marial, in my being… deep in my bones.”

There’s a small pause, feeling like the very air in the room is vibrating. “It is not a lineage.”

“What?” Catherine’s head jerks up, a confused expression on her face.

“Russia,” Marial says.” It does not go to an heir if there is not one. If the emperor dies, it goes to the empress.”

-

“What the _fuck_ is this?” The Master’s voice rings loudly through the rooms of their apartments. The Doctor stops cleaning the dried blood off her face, washing her hands in the basin in front of her. The swelling has already started to go down, but the bruises have fully formed and almost started to fade. The Doctor sighs as he gently takes her chin in a firm grip, moving her head carefully from side to side, inspecting the mending cuts on her upper lip and cheek. “I told you, it’s – it’s nothing.”

“You’ve always been a horrible liar, Doctor. _Tell me_.”

“Hypnosis won’t work on me, you idiot,” she softly places her hand on top of his and lets it rest there for a few seconds. The Master’s eyes scour her knuckles for signs of a fight, trying to discern the situation. She’s cold to the touch, her skin pale. She briefly meets his eyes before pushing his hand away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Who did this to you? Did someone touch you?”

“No.”

“I swear I’ll _tear_ their fucking _hearts_ out-”

“Let it _go_ , would you!” The Doctor erupts suddenly with a lot of pain in her voice. “Please _,_ ” she adds softly, almost like a plea. “It’s not your job to care about me.”

She can see the Master’s face shift at her words, his whole body tense. She breathes out slowly, looking at him with sad eyes. It’s just too much, honestly. The Doctor feels quite powerless, useless to protect those she cares about – none of this would have happened when she was a man. The Master almost looks hurt, she thinks, strangely enough, but why would he decide to _care_ all of a sudden? The last time she saw him he was hellbent on watching her come apart at the seams as he destroyed the very foundation she was built upon. She sighs.

It leaves a kind of stinging pain in her hearts, the way he touches her so gently now and swears to revenge her. It’s nothing she needs, just another riddle to add to the pile of things bothering her in the back of her head. Whenever she looks at him, she burns with so much anger and frustration. He’s hurt her too much to mend right now. But she knows she hurts him, too. _All the running, Doctor, all the running. And the lying. Will it ever stop?_

The Master takes a step closer to her, the weight of his mind carefully balancing against hers as he struggles to keep eye contact. He still looks haunted, but he always manages to blend in so seamlessly, she thinks, especially in comparison to her. Not that she particularly cares about it, or ever has done, as she usually finds that a lot of well-placed eagerness and overly enthusiastic confidence does the trick – but this time it sticks out like a sore thumb. She casts a glance at her dishevelled hair and bloodied face in the mirror, with her dress covered with mud and grime, before looking back at the Master who looks like he’s been wearing these clothes all his life.

She swallows. “I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, stroking his thumb gently over the cut starting to scar. He looks her directly in the eyes, and it feels like she owes him an explanation under the burn of his stare.

“Look, I just – I can’t trust you,” she says quietly, honestly, looking away. “Not right now, at least. Dunno if ever can.”

He sighs and smiles a sad smile with those big, watery eyes of his, and she can feel the carefulness as he leans in and slowly presses a kiss to her temple, just above the small scar. His lips leave a buzz on her skin. _That’s okay_ , he tells her in Gallifreyan, almost a bit rusty, before whispering one word in her ear, his voice like bitter honey. “ _Llalulan_ ,” meaning _promise,_ a promise, the promise, _our promise_ – the word they told each other underneath those very first stars. A single word holds a lot more meaning in that dead language, as it means both the promise that they made each other all those years ago, the promise of friendship they always will have to each other, and that he promises her: _I know. Take whatever time you need._

The Doctor stares at him in disbelief. She hasn’t heard those words in a long time, and the words ring so raw in her head. She didn’t even notice her eyes instinctively welling with tears. She swallows and furiously tries to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

“Shut up,” she says very silently back, hitting him in the shoulder. She knows it hurts to use those long-forgotten words. His tongue darts over his lips and he smiles. This softness he’s presenting reminds her a lot of O. Ages ago, but it hurts.

She sniffs, knowing he’s taking advantage of the situation and she hates him for it. Still, it’s a nice moment, she thinks, watching it slip away from her fingers as all the gentleness fades away from his face.

His voice sounds fuming although it’s very low. “It was _him_ , wasn’t it?”

The Doctor doesn’t say anything. He knows when she’s lying anyway. The anger spreads over his features as his hands curl into fists. She can see the fire burning in his eyes as he turns on his heel and heads for the door.

“ _No_.” She hurries after him, grabbing him by the arm. “We don’t meddle. We know the course of events here.”

“Does it _look-_ ” he says, closing his eyes as he spins around to face her with a dramatic gesture, throwing his hands up in the air – “like I fucking care?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before shrugging her hand off and making his way down the hall with heavy footsteps, leaving the Doctor behind as the door slams in her face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love hearing from you! kudos and comments are always really appreciated<33

The Master is livid as he storms into the emperor’s quarters. Peter and Grigor heads both jerk up to look at him and Peter’s face immediately twists into a smirk.

“Well, I say!” The emperor exclaims. “Somebody needs to learn how to knock-”

He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before the Master takes his head with both hands, easily fighting his weak, human attempts of struggling against his grip and rams it straight down into his raised knee. He feels Peter’s nose break instantly, smiling as the emperor gains the momentum to stand up again, a hand to his nose gushing with blood as he tries to regain his balance. Grigor takes several hesitant steps backwards. The Master is quick to move behind Peter, twisting his right arm behind his back, lodging it between their bodies with a yell of pain from the emperor.

Peter desperately tries to turn back towards the Master with a grunt, shoving his entire body towards him, but the Master jams his arm around his neck into a chokehold as Peter’s free hand futilely tries to peel his hand away.

“I told you-” the Master says madly through gritted teeth, leaning in to whisper into Peter’s ear, “-not to touch her.”

And those are the last words the emperor will ever hear, as the Master grips the top of Peter’s head to wrench it to the side, exposing his neck as he reaches down to take the emperor’s knife from his belt, and stabs directly through Peter’s carotid artery with surgical precision before removing the knife. The blood gushes from his neck as he goes limp in the Master’s arms.

Grigor watches in shock as the Master makes a disgruntled grimace before dropping the body (of what just a minute ago was his emperor) to the floor. The kind of hard, wet thud makes Grigor’s entire body jolt trying to get away, drawing the Master’s attention as he falls backwards and scrambles over the floor towards the wall.

The Master steps back, careful not to get blood on his shoes, slowly walking around the body.

Grigor looks at him with tears in his eyes as he cowers, trying to get further into the walls. “Please, sir, please- please don’t kill me,” he croaks, _like a little, scared frog_ , the Master thinks, an amused smile playing with his features.

The Master looks down at his hands. _Hungry fingers. Bloody fingers._ He considers just slashing his throat right now, too, and all of this will be over within the second, but then the Doctor runs in, slamming the doors behind her.

She stops in her tracks, staring at the body and the blood-soaked Master.

The Master sighs. He leans in closer to Grigor, pointing the knife at him, snarling. “If you speak a word about this, I will find you. I’ll kill your wife first,” he says in a low voice as Grigor whimpers. “I’ll know if you talk. Trust me.”

“Get away from him!” the Doctor yells, moving closer to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

The Master rolls his eyes, stepping back, holding his hands up as he lets the knife drop to the ground with a loud _clang_. “Happy?”

“Let him go.”

He scoffs and gestures irritably at Grigor to the door. Grigor swallows thickly and looks between them before he utters a “thank you” and runs away.

“What did you _do?_ ” The Doctor frantically shouts from where she stands, closing the distance between them when he doesn’t answer. “What did you _do_ -” she growls, and hits him hard across the chest as hard as she can. “What did you do _whatdidyoudo_ whatdidyoudo-” she continues, tears in her eyes, hitting him again and again and again.

The Master just stands still, taking the blows.

“ _Doctor_ ,” he eventually says, softly but firm, like a warning, slowly covering her mouth with his hand just in case she’s making enough noise to attract attention. She stills and whimpers against his fingers, Peter’s blood on her face. He sighs heavily and slowly wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. The Master feels all the rage seething beneath his skin like a raving fire and he knows she can feel it too.

The Doctor rests her head against his chest, closing her eyes. _One-two-three-four. Onetwothreefour._ It’s calming, in a way, she thinks. Distracts her from the ringing sound in her head, the blood rushing through her. She swallows the lump in her throat. “Master… What the _hell_ have you done?”

He untangles her from his grip, just far enough away to look at her. She’s beautiful, he thinks, the wicked chaos with untidy hair and blood smeared across her face, bruises across her skin. He looks her directly in the eyes. They’re old eyes now, tired eyes, pooling with tears. “What I _had_ to-”

“You _can’t_ kill for me,” she says immediately, something broken in her voice. “Not again. I can’t take it.”

“He hurt you.”

She looks down. “…Yes.”

“There’s so much _burning_ inside of me. It boils and seethes and _churns_ in my chest, Doctor.”

“And did it help? Killing him, did it help?”

He doesn’t say anything. She knows the answer.

“The carnage has to stop,” the Doctor says in a low voice. They stand in silence for a little while before she lets out a small sound, closing her eyes.

“…I’m really tired,” she sighs.

He presses his forehead against hers. “I know. But we need to go.”

“I know.”

The Doctor leans into the touch for as long as she can before he slowly starts the remove himself from the embrace, opening her eyes as he heads for the door with determined steps. “After you, my dear,” he says almost casually, and something about it makes the Doctor’s hearts sting as she casts a glance at the dead man on the floor.

“Don’t call me that,” she says meekly, following him.

-

Once they get inside the Master wrings off his west, going towards the lit fireplace. “Come. We need to burn these clothes,” he says, tossing it into the fire, watching the flames gradually start to swallow it before starting to work on the buttons of his blood-spattered white shirt. The Doctor hesitates just a moment before she looks down at her dress, seeing the dark red having soaked over from the Master’s clothes. She huffs and walks over to him as he throws the shirt in the fire as well.

The Doctor looks at him for a few seconds, the stains of blood on his chest, before she turns around to let him untie the corset. He works quickly and doesn’t say a thing as she tugs it off her body and gathers it up into her arms, shoving it into the fireplace carefully along with the other burning garments.

She watches the Master crouch down to look at the fire carefully. The flames cast a yellow, warm light over his dark skin. He almost looks serene like this, illuminated by the fire, determined and unbothered. Like he didn’t just kill someone with his bare hands, the Doctor thinks, looking at him with a tilt to her head and her arms crossed over her chest. She quickly shakes it off and goes to the bathroom in their apartments to wash the blood from her face for the second time today.

The Master feels the warmth burn over his skin as the Doctor leaves, placing his hands on his knees for balance, feeling the bloodied fabric of his trousers underneath his fingers. He looks from the fire to his hands. _Bloody hands. Hungry hands_. _Hands made for burning._ They’re shaking, ever just so slightly. Usually the killing made him feel steadier. Like he was doing what he was made for. But now they’re shaking. He curls them into fists. _Better._

Slowly, he stands up, the warmth of the fire still hot on his skin. He tugs off his trousers, tossing them into the fire as well, before stepping out of his shoes and following the Doctor. He stands in the doorway for a little bit, watching her soak the cloth and bring it to her face for the last stains of blood.

She looks up at him with glossy eyes and a pained expression over her features, strands of dishevelled, pale hair in her face. He watches how her jaw tenses as she tries to figure out what to do. There’s something so unfamiliar about this new dynamic between them that he almost wants to lounge forward and throttle her just for things to go back to normal.

“…Come here,” the Doctor says eventually, sounding defeated, and he does.

She takes the cloth, the water cold to touch, and runs it along his chest. The Master watches her wet it again and work up towards his neck and jaw. The Doctor hesitates there, just for a second, and rests her hand against his collarbone. She looks up at him, dark rings under her eyes.

He furrows his eyebrows, staring at her. “What?”

“-If the Time Lords could see us now,” she says, a smile nearly playing with her lips.

He wants to humour her – tell her that they’d call them a disgrace, frown and punish them if they were caught, just like in the old days, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to do it.

“They can’t,” he says quietly, as if he’s first now realising that they’re alone. “No one can.”

She looks down for a second before taking the cloth back to his face with her hand, any hint of a smile gone from her face. “Right,” she says, both of them testing the edges of the other’s mind, her thumb gently stoking over his cheek. “All alone.”

-

The Master doesn’t sleep that night. The Doctor is curled up on the right side of the bed, facing away from him, gently snoring. They lay there for some time, completely still, the Master’s hands behind his head.

_One-two-three-four. Onetwothreefour._

He keeps staring at the ceiling and feels the jaded edges of her mind gently brushing against his, nothing more. It’s in tune with her body, which is smaller than he’s used to this time around. Like he could crush it with just one hand.

He looks at her, barely moving his neck. Her hair falls over the pillow and some of it over her face. He frowns as she whimpers in her sleep. Her chest moves up and down with the rise and fall of her breaths.

He can’t quite get the hang of her. This Doctor refuses to take his hand, but she asks him to read to her when she can’t sleep. She yells a lot, too. But this Doctor breaks silently. When she’s angry or sad or absolutely, utterly ruined. And especially when she looks at him.

_It’s their fault,_ he thinks. _For what they did to us._

He hates her and he loves her with all the burning rage and pain in his hearts. _Burning, burning, burning, burning._ He almost can’t bear to look at her.

_Onetwothreefour._ It burns brighter than Gallifrey.

He sighs and turns to her. Her body tenses in her dreams as the mattress shifts. He wraps his arm around her slowly, pulling her to his chest.

She burns, she burns, she burns.

He slips his hand underneath her shirt, right over her solar plexus. And they lie like that, like they used to, her heartbeats under his fingers. _Onetwothreefour_. ( _They beat for you_ , she used to say, when she was a scared boy under red trees that are only ashes now.)

His grip tightens, nails burrowing into her skin and she inhales sharply, skin against skin against skin against skin. He feels the nightmares. He knows them. And he takes them. Just for now. Her body relaxes and they breathe out together. And in. And out. And in again.

She still smells the same.

He buries his face into the nape of her neck and after a while, he drifts off just when night turns to day.

-

The next few days the Doctor is uncharacteristically quiet, especially during the Catherine’s inauguration as the new sole Empress of Russia, and the festivities following after.

“Something wrong, my dear?” Catherine asks, bubbly from all the alcohol.

Marial, now a lady of the court again, leans in. “You should probably sound a bit more saddened, Empress. Remember, your husband just died.”

“Oh, right,” Catherine says, moving a little bit in her chair, putting on a gloomy face, speaking again in a overly solemn voice. “What’s wrong, Doctor?”

Marial conceals a smile by taking a sip from her glass. The Doctor sighs, looking quickly at her two friends, before returning to stare blankly at the crowd with her head in her hands. “Nothing, really. I’ve just been a bit out of it.”

Catherine tilts her head. “Maybe you’re getting sick? Several of the women have fainted with worry lately, just knowing there’s a killer among us, waiting to be caught.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen in feigned realisation. “Maybe that’s it,” she says with a scrunch of her nose, knowing very well that’s not it.

“Vodka usually helps,” Marial offers, reaching out to extend a small glass to her. The Doctor scowls at it for a few seconds, considering it carefully, before she takes it and tilts her neck back to swallow all of it at once. She makes a grimace and her friends laugh.

“I think I’m just gonna go outside for a bit. I’ll be back in a mo,” she promises, standing up from the banquet and heads out of the ballroom, looking for the nearest balcony while avoiding any overly enthusiastic members of the court on the way.

She gets out and takes a deep breath of the cool evening air as she watches the cold turn her breath to white clouds against the black night sky spangled with stars. As much as she loves the 21st century and her friends there, there’s something she misses about watching a sky like this, like she used to. Of course, the view on Gallifrey was a thousand times more spectacular, but there’s just something about the Earth sky that makes her feel nostalgic.

_“What’s so special about Earth?” A dark-haired boy asks a long time ago, glaring at his friend over the numerous books on the desk in between them._

_“Well, it’s not really special like that, I just like it. Its inhabitants look just like us! Can you believe that?” The friend traces his fingers along the lines in the book in front of him with an enthusiastic grin. “And, it’s located in a galaxy so far away-”_

_“Just study, Thete, for once, would you? Or Borusa’s gonna kill you.”_

_“It’s boring! I don’t care about that stuff,” the friend exclaims, leaning back in his chair. “Promise that we’ll go there someday?”_

_“Of course we will. Don’t you remember our pact? Every star in the universe.”_

_“Yes, but do you promise?”_

_The dark-haired boy stops making notes and looks up at his friend with a smile, pen hovering just above the paper. “Promise.”_

The Doctor sighs, vividly recalling what it was like seeing the Master standing there in the middle of the emperor’s room, covered in blood again. Every cell in her body screaming out in anger – _we will never be the same_ – and fear, looking from his raving eyes to the dead emperor on the floor and realising, as the initial shock faded, that she’s lived a long, long time, and some things just has to happen.

That thought still scares her – _who are you, doctor? what are you?_

She has known the Master for a long time, and the older she gets, the more she understands, unfortunately. He might as well have handed her a bouquet of roses, standing there with a corpse at his feet and the knife in his hand.

Just like when she stood in the ashes of Gallifrey with him, a nauseating feeling slowly filled her from her core and out to her fingers, a dizzying and overwhelming sensation of hurt and sadness and guilt.

That feeling comes creeping back as soon as she lets her guard down for just a second.

She knows she should kick and scream and fight and run, but for some reason she can’t bring herself to do it, that gravitational pull between them luring her towards him, towards the edge of cosmos.

All those years ago, she ran because she was scared, and she’s still running. She’s still scared.

_How many times do you have to hurt him before you understand?_ That voice says. She makes a grimace.

He’s the gaping, bleeding mouth of the universe, and she’s so, so sorry. She stumbles backwards, off the edge of the cosmos, and she’s falling, falling, falling. She keeps falling until the familiarity of the Master’s voice catches her and brings her back to reality. “You alright?”

_You just close your eyes and accept it,_ that voice says. _Let it burn you to ashes._

“Yeah,” the Doctor says silently, looking at the stars in the distance. It still hurts, after all this time.

“Thought you might be out here,” he says, moving closer to where she leans against the railing. She huffs. He looks at her, linen shirt hastily tucked into a woollen skirt and fastened with a belt, fingers tapping against the top of the fence.

The Doctor turns her head to look at him with a half-hearted smile despite of the sinking feeling in her stomach. “You know me. Only came for the dancing.”

“Of course. I’m sure you’re aware you look like a fish on land when you do.”

_Rassilon_ , she hates him. “Oi.”

The Master smiles smugly to himself as he leans down against the balustrade as well, watching the horizon. She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does.

“Doctor,” he says, clenching his hands into fists to stop the gentle shaking, but she interrupts him before he can finish.

“It comes so easy to you. The destruction. The _killing_. Did you - were you lying to me, all that time you were her?”

It takes him a while to answer. “…No.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“No.”

All of it, the flames, the tears, the ruins, the cries, the smiles and the _burning_ flashes before his eyes, heartbeats ringing in his ears. It would be so much easier if she could just hate him.

He turns his head to the side and looks at her. “Do you?”

“Why do you care?” She counters immediately and looks away, out to the forest far away from the palace, submerged by darkness. _I don’t_ , he wants to scream, yell at her, bite and claw at her skin till she bleeds. But he can’t bring himself to do it.

“…Aren’t we friends?” he asks, quietly, like he’s admitting something. There’s frost on the grass.

The Doctor swallows. “I’m not sure if there is an exact definition for what we are,” she says, and something catches in the Master’s chest.

After he found the truth on Gallifrey – that inferno of rage returned, stronger than ever, washing over him like a tidal wave and dragging him with it into the deep of the fiery ocean, and he razed it to the ground. The lies, _being_ lied to like that – he wasn’t sure the anger and betrayal could even be contained within him, exploding like a thousand dying suns, rising and falling with his every breath.

Nothing really occurred to him before he crawled out of the burning wreckage of that stolen TARDIS, unfortunately alive and _saved_ by the Doctor again. Everything on Gallifrey happened so devastatingly fast and so devastatingly tragic - it feels like a manic fever dream when he thinks about it, like white-hot coils curling around his mind, unwilling to let go. Staggering to find something to hold on to in the ruins, spitting blood leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as his head spun.

He did it for the Doctor. He burned them for what they did to her.

The Master has never stopped loving her. That tiny part of the Doctor will always be with him – he’s nothing without her, and he hates her for that. He hates that he wants her like this, just the two of them. Like it always has been.

But the Doctor could never love him like she loves the universe.

She thinks she knows what it’s like; she always has – such a force of nature, a calamity, a thing filled with so much hatred she knows too rightly what kindness must be in the absence of it all. The universe bleeds in her wake, and she thinks she knows, the shape of her reflected in the interwoven constellations of the heavens still shining above, but she doesn’t. It stings. If only he could make her see-

The Doctor puts a hand over his and his head jerks up at the touch, looking at her as she slowly turns towards him. “We need to find a way out of here,” she says with pleading eyes in a hushed voice. “The TARDIS you had, you said it crashed, there must be a way to find it somehow-”

“Doctor!” The empress gleefully interrupts from behind them, saving the Master from explaining why he hasn’t told her where it is. He chases the Doctor’s touch as she instinctively jumps back and removes her hand. “You must stop disappearing like this, my dear. People will start to talk.”

The Master rolls his eyes. They’d be quivering with fear if they knew what she was beneath her subdued anger and forced smiles. “She can do what she wants,” he sneers before the Doctor has a chance to respond.

Catherine looks at him in surprise, opening and closing her mouth like a startled little hamster. _Don’t_ , the Doctor scorns quickly, brushing over her skirt and stepping away from him, voice heavy in his mind. “Don’t mind him.” The Master glares at her. “We were, er, just in the middle of something,” she explains, lightly taking hold of the empress’ upper arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be right there.”

“Alright,” Catherine says, giving a spirited smile. “Be quick. Velementov is about to set himself on fire. And probably half the room with him,” she huffs, casting a final glance at the two before going inside again, wobbly in her steps. 

The warm light from inside illuminates the edges of the Doctor’s small figure in the dark, fumbling a little bit with her arms as she wraps them around herself. Something cold and solid like truth spreads through her body. “I… miss it,” she says. “Home. _You_.”

The Master decides not to say anything.

“Before all the lies. All the harm.” She turns to look at him, slowly, tucking a strand of short hair behind her ear out of habit. “Do you ever think it could-”

“No,” the Master says sharply, cutting her off, bitter and honest. She closes her eyes briefly and imagines a world where they could run like children again before she heads back in to the party.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 12 aka the gang (aka the doctor and the master) gets blueballed and goes on the run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! have been super busy with things in my daily life but i've written a lot! here's a quick one before shit starts to go down :) as always, love hearing what you think <33

“Witch!” Someone shouts at her in the halls.

At some point the Doctor stopped keeping track of how many days, and eventually weeks, have passed since the Master killed the emperor. There’s been a rising unease amongst the people at court as they haven’t found the murderer yet, and after the Doctor helped cure a small child’s case of smallpox a little while ago some people have started pointing fingers at her.

The Doctor rolls her eyes and walks quicker, reaching their room, closing the doors heavily behind her. The Master lies on his back, slung over the bed nonchalantly, reading a book raised over his head and meticulously turning a page as soon as the Doctor comes in. She lets out a theatrical sigh just to emphasise what a horrible morning she’s had.

“You’d think they’d be – I dunno – grateful, or something; you know,” she says as she wrestles her coat off, slinging it over the nearby chair. “Not murderous.”

The Master hums in response, only vaguely paying attention.

She sighs again and closes her eyes briefly, pressing her fingers against her temples to wane the oncoming headache drumming against her skull. She’s certain time has started to pass at a slower rate than normal just to spite her. There’s this unrest that’s settled in her, crawling just beneath her skin, pricking at her fingertips. The Master thinks that even though she tries to hide it – if nothing happens soon, she’ll set the palace on fire herself. Accidentally, of course.

“Well?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “No clever comments?”

“They’re only human, my dear Doctor.”

A few seconds pass before the Doctor clicks her tongue impatiently, dissatisfied by his response, clearly craving some sort of stimulation. The Master hides a smile behind his book.

She looks at him, her face tetchy. “I’m bored.”

He flips another page over. “I can tell.”

That gives her an idea.

She kicks off her shoes beside the bed and starts unfastening her belt with a determined look on her face, letting her woollen skirt fall to the floor with a quiet thud.

The Master peers over the book, intrigued by how the situation has escalated. “What are you doing?”

The Doctor takes a deep breath as she comes closer, and he sits up on the edge of the bed and simply throws the book away over his shoulder without a second thought. “I’m _bored_ ,” she insists, slowly climbing up onto the mattress to place one knee on either side of him and lower herself into his lap, taking hold of the edges of her linen shirt to tug it off over her head before looping her hands around his neck.

The Master smirks as he places his hands on her hips eagerly. “Any particular reason you’re taking off your clothes?”

“Nah,” she says, strands of blonde hair falling in her face as she looks down at him with a smile. “Didn’t think you’d be complaining.”

“I’m absolutely not,” he says, glancing down at her breasts before pressing his fingernails into her soft skin, making her draw a sharp breath.

“Good.” It sounds almost aggressive as the Doctor leans in, curling her fingers in his hair as she presses her lips to his.

She kisses him greedily, running her tongue over his before he counters with biting her bottom lip sharply and splits the skin there just as a reminder of the scar that never seems to grow. The metallic taste lingers in her mouth as she feels the Master smile against her. She kisses him harder and grinds down where she straddles him, feeling his growing erection against her.

He reaches up with one hand to cup her breast, the other pulling her closer with a low groan as he jerks his hips up against her, already half-hard. She smirks, pulling his hair tightly to crane his neck backwards, kissing the corner of his mouth as he struggles slightly against her grip.

It's a constant dance between them. Sometimes they both fight to lead, sometimes they both know immediately. The Master runs his hand over her body enthusiastically before he eventually reaches her backside and squeezes, wringing a small whine from her lips. She leaves a trail of kisses over his jaw before reaching that point beneath his ear, feeling his beard tickle her skin. She starts there, gently tracing her teeth over his throat, kissing down hard and sucks the skin before running her tongue over the marks. Far away, the Doctor thinks he might be laughing, but she’s too busy sliding her hand down his chest and under his shirt to care.

“Off,” the Doctor breathes heavily against his skin, nudging at the fabric. He doesn’t hesitate a second before pulling it over his head and throwing it away on the floor, immediately leaning in to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He lightly graces it with his teeth and pinches the other with his fingers, earning a low, desperate moan from the Doctor before he slowly kisses his way up to her lips again. She sighs as he cups her face, his other hand digging into her back.

By the time she’s left a trail of purple-blue marks along the Master’s collarbone and slowly untangled herself from his tight grip to admire her work with a smirk, he’s hard beneath her. She reaches down to not-so-gently grasp him through the fabric of his trousers as his hands roam up over her sides, making him jerk up against her touch. He hisses in her ear as the Doctor laughs and slides his hand up over her back to grab her hair roughly in response.

“What’s so funny?”

The Doctor thinks about how for all his threats and impenetrable walls, she still manages to reduce him to – this. Just like when they were young. “Nothing.”

He looks at her, like a predator considering its prey, pressing a fierce, close-mouthed kiss against the Doctor’s lips before tugging her hair gently, nudging her towards the ground.

“Down,” he says in a low voice that sends blood rushing through her; his breath hot on her skin, and she’s only happy to oblige. She carefully steps off the edge of the bed and sinks down to her knees as he pulls his trousers down enough to free his erection. She grips the base of his cock with one hand and takes him fully into her mouth, sinking her head down and sucking hard before moving her head back up, her other hand tight on his hip. His hands curl tightly in her hair and he drops his head back with a content groan above her.

She works him with her mouth, moving her neck and trailing her tongue around the tip. She has more of a gag reflex now than she’s used to, catching herself taking a little bit too much of him in her mouth at once and having to slide off him to breathe for a few seconds. She pushes some strands of hair that keep falling in her face back behind her hears before she wraps her lips around his cock again and registers how his hold tenses in her hair with a smile. The Doctor hears his breath hitch above her, letting out a growl that might have been her name before he uses his firm grip to pull her off him with a wet sound and up into the bed, pushing her down on the mattress.

The Master tugs at her hips with a slight push, urging her over on her stomach. He sits upright behind her, nudging her feet apart with his knee between her thighs as he strokes his cock, and she slowly balances herself up on her hands and knees, leaning her chest down into the bed. She feels him line up behind her, teasing the tip against her wet entrance, one hand firmly planted on her raised lower back, holding her steady as she closes her eyes.

It aches a little as he sinks into her, the Doctor letting out a small hiss of pain under her breath as he digs his nails into her skin and starts thrusting in a steady rhythm with a grunt. There’s no mercy this time around, and the Doctor smiles into the mattress, knotting her fingers in the covers as he picks up the pace, ramming into her. She’s always been acutely aware of her body but right now she feels _everywhere_ he touches her, his mind wrapping around hers, and it’s making her head spin.

She bites her bottom lip as he rakes his nails along her skin, briefly pausing his thrusts to roughly take hold of her hair and pull her head up and back towards him, making her arch her back. One of her hands buried into the mattress as he pushes into her again and starts fucking her mercilessly, moving her other fingers to rub over her clit, letting out a deep sound of pleasure as he slaps her ass hard and she sinks back into his rhythm, feeling beads of sweat start to form over her warm skin.

He twists his grip in her hair, pulling her further back, wringing a small cry from her lips and she becomes very aware of the clammy strands clinging to her face and falling in her eyes. Removing her hand from her clit to brush the hair out of her face the Master immediately seizes the opportunity to slap her ass again before slipping his hand in front of her and between her legs, finding her clit immediately. The Doctor lets out a loud gasp, feeling her legs start to shake and her entire body shuddering as she builds towards a climax, panting hard in time with his thrusts as he groans.

“I’m gonna come-” she gasps out, digging her fingers into the sheets and shutting her eyes tightly against the ceiling, seeing stars.

He hisses behind her, removing his hand from her clit and smacks her once more, resting his hand on her ass and digging his nails into the skin. “Not yet, love.” He yanks her even closer to him, growling in her ear. “Say my name.”

“Master-” she pants, _mastermastermaster_ , “please-”

“Good girl,” he breathes heavily, tugging at her hair, “ _fuck_ , Doctor, you look- _so_ good like this, all ruined for me-”

She’ll doesn’t have the energy to roll her eyes, but she thinks that she would if she could, before quickly falling back into the rhythm and losing herself in him again. The Doctor lets her body rock with his thrusts, pushing back to meet him again as soon as possible, the length of him filling her perfectly.

She feels hot and warm and almost dizzy as he lets go of her behind and starts rubbing her clit again, feeling her contract around his cock, before someone suddenly opens the door to their room.

“ _Rassilon_ -!” The Master shouts angrily in surprise as the Doctor yells and he pulls out, letting go of her hair and digging his hand into her lower back, pushing her back as they scramble back into the bed.

It takes the Doctor a few seconds to realise the young man is staring at her breasts before she takes some of the scrunched sheets and covers herself with a disdainful look. “ _What?_ ”

The messenger stands very unsurely in the doorway, shifting his weight between his feet. The Master uncomfortably tries to conceal his rock-hard erection beneath the covers as he leans against the bedframe, grinding his teeth together to stop himself from leaping up and gauging the man’s eyes out with his thumbs. “You’re, uh, you’re wanted for, uh, questioning, Lady Doctor-”

“Me?” The Doctor looks at him with disbelief, pulling the covers closer to her chest.

“Uh, yes. About the murder.”

“Oh, right. Does Cath- I mean, the empress, does she know about this?”

“Uh, no. The archbishop has decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“Yes, of course he has. Interesting. Er, would you just give me and… my husband a few minutes to get dressed?”

“Certainly,” he replies instantly with a pinkish hue to his cheeks, stepping back and closing the door halfway, only his head peeking through. The Master glares at him. “I’ll- uh, wait outside.”

“Thank you,” the Doctor smiles as the door closes completely.

Within seconds she’s up from the bed, seemingly unbothered as she frantically looks for some easily accessible pieces of clothing as he can practically feel the wheels turning all the way to where he's sitting.

The Master looks at her, running a hand over his sweaty forehead and through his hair, trying to calm down from being both extremely turned on and extremely angry – it seems that he keeps feeling this way around the Doctor.

She raises her eyebrows. “Go on,” she says, her hand gesturing to the clothes on the floor, “get dressed.” He gives a dissatisfied grimace but doesn’t protest.

She snatches her shirt from the floor and a pair of the Master’s pants from a nearby chest, quickly throwing them on. They’re a bit too loose so she picks up a heavy belt and fastens it as she starts looking for a pair of boots.

Behind her, the Master gathers his clothes from the floor in silence, pulling his trousers on and buttoning his shirt up with furrowed brows before he turns and sees the Doctor beginning to climb out the window.

The Master looks at her. “ _What_ are you doing?”

She looks back, just as confused. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He takes a deep breath. “There’s _four_ stories down!”

“We’ve done worse,” she winks at him, and climbs out so she’s hanging down from her hands. “Come along!”

He rolls his eyes and sighs, kicking his shoes on and muttering a lengthy string of long-dead curses and something that sounds like _reckless bitch_ as he unwillingly moves towards the window, hoisting himself up to sit at the ledge.

The Master is greeted by the Doctor’s grin looking up at him from where she reaches the next floor down by grabbing the ornate ridges that separates each level and dropping herself down to not very gently balance her foot directly into a big and luckily sturdy flower bed underneath the next window with a small yelp.

She strokes her forehead dramatically with the back of her hand, raising her eyebrows at him like she wanted to impress him. “Phew.”

“-How’d you know that would hold you?” He hisses angrily at her through gritted teeth, like a parent scorning an irresponsible child.

“I didn’t. Took a leap of faith. Your turn,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“No.”

She looks down at her feet to hide her smile before placing her hands on her hips and craning her neck to look back up. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights this time.”

“I’m not,” he mumbles almost inaudibly, looking away.

“Well, it’s either this or fighting our way through an angry horde of Russians. And we’re _not_ doing the Russians. C’mon,” she says, motioning impatiently with her head.

The Master looks down at the ground that’s very, very far beneath her, and takes a deep breath before begrudgingly turning around to let himself descend with a strong grasp on the sill. “I’d take the Russians any day,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Stop whining! This is just like when we snuck out to drink with the Shebogans,” the Doctor muses fondly. “Remember how you’d pick fights with them just to defend my honour?”

“Yeah. Good times,” he sneers as he struggles not to lose his grip.

The Doctor scoffs. “You tried to take on six at once that one time.”

He scowls down at her as he nears the third floor. “I still won.”

“Like I didn’t have to carry you back to the academy.”

“Shut up. I could have walked just fine.”

“Sure you could,” she says with a smile, offering a hand up to him for the small drop to the flower bed.

He rolls his eyes and takes it, cursing again before he lets go of his other hand and feeling uneven surface under his feet as he lands. “I could have done that just fine, too.” He crushes some extra flowers beneath his shoe just for good measure.

“Sure you could.”

Suddenly the messenger’s voice rings from their room one floor up. “Guards! They’re gone!”

“Oh,” the Doctor winces.

The Master takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna hurt that man, Doctor.”

“Come on!” She ignores the comment and gestures to the Master who curls his hands into fists and lets out a long sigh before starting to climb further down, faster than before. The Doctor kneels down to lend him a hand and looks up, seeing the messenger’s head peek out through the open window and right down at them. She makes a grimace. “Sorry!”

It doesn’t take long before they reach the ground with minimal death threats from the Master, and the Doctor instinctively grabs his hand as they start running away from the palace.

“There she is!” Someone eventually shouts far behind them, and the Master casts a quick glance behind them to see a whole assembly of armed men piling out of the entrance. “That’s the murderer, kill her!”

Almost before the sentence is finished gunshots rings through the air, filling it with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. The Doctor runs faster over the open fields as the bullets creep closer, the Master keeping up the pace just behind her. The two of them seem to have forgotten they’re holding hands.

They near closer to the woods but one bullet graces the Master’s arm, making him yell out in pain as his hand immediately goes to the wound. He almost staggers to the ground in a brutal déjà vu to a gallery a long time ago. The Doctor goes wide-eyed and turns around, shouting over the distance.

“Stop!” She waves, and somehow draws the attention of the murderous horde enough for them to halt in their tracks, all of them gasping for breath. “Let’s be reasonable here, gentlemen.”

They all look at the Doctor in confusion, still armed and pointing their guns at her.

“It wasn’t me!”

There’s a small silence before someone pipes up. “What?”

“It was _him_ ,” she shouts dramatically, pointing at the Master.

He turns to her with an outraged grimace, like a child rightly accused of stealing a piece of candy, whispering angrily. “What was that good for?!”

“Well, y’know, it _was_ you.”

“ _And_?!”

The army of men looks at each other for a few seconds before someone raises their fist enthusiastically. “Well, then kill them both!”

“Oi!” The Doctor manages to yell out before the gunfire drowns out her voice and she grabs the Master’s hand again to pull him after her towards the river. As soon as they reach the bank sloping down the water, he frees his hand from hers and grabs her shoulder, forcing her down for cover behind the small hill.

“Meet me at the other end of the forest,” he utters, still wincing in pain, slightly winded. “I’ll distract them.”

“Master-”

“Let me do this, Doctor,” he says, turning to face her. And for some reason, even if she doesn’t trust him, she trusts the same dark eyes that ran with her through the red grass.

She swallows. “Okay. Just don’t- you know.”

“I know,” he says with a wicked smile. She looks at him with heavy hearts. “Go,” he gestures with a nod to the beginning of the woods as he digs his fingers into the ground and runs up, waving at the group of people with his good hand. “Over here!” He shouts as he runs in the opposite direction towards the farmlands, and the Doctor sprints towards the autumn-coloured forest to the sounds of gunshots being fired behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 13 aka the gang (aka the doctor and the master) find a way out but a little too far out

As the Doctor runs through the forest, chest heaving, strangely all she can think about is how beautiful the falling leaves look in the last glimpse of autumn.  _ Keep going _ . Her breath makes tiny white clouds in the cold air as she sprints past trees and mossy stones, barely avoiding stray fallen branches in her way.  _ Keepgoingkeepgoing _ . 

In the far distance she can still hear gunfire.  _ Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing _ . She ignores it and runs faster. 

_ It always comes back to this, doesn’t it? _ That voice says in the back of her head.  _ Shut up _ , she flinches. The voice falls silent and there’s no more gunshots.

The soft hum of her TARDIS lingers in her mind. She misses it, the gentle sound, sort of a slow, loving static. Ever since it disappeared it’s been deafeningly quiet when she finally stops talking. Quiet and lonely. The Doctor doesn’t do well with quiet and lonely. The only sound is the forest and her racing footsteps against the hard ground.

_ Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, run, Doctor, runrunrunrun. _

The clouded sky peeks through the tree crowns, and for a second she thinks that it might just all be okay. The next second she crashes towards the ground face-first with a yelp, barely shielding her body with her hands as she tumbles over the dewy grass. She looks up with wild eyes, adrenaline coursing through her system, and quickly finds the rock she tripped over. The Doctor gets up, brushing off some dirt, and doesn’t even register how her ankle is starting to swell. 

_ It’s your fault _ , that voice says smugly.  _ All of it _ .

Somewhere a bird is singing. She’s too old now. She thinks that maybe the universe would be better off without her. She takes a deep breath and sighs.

There’s been so many of them. Too many. Too many she let slip and fall through her fingers.  _ We must look like insects to you _ , a wise man once said. She shakes her head and runs her hands through her head.  _ Shut up shut up shut up _ .

Sometimes the Doctor wants to scream. She swallows and bites her lip instead and starts walking.  _ Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing _ . It’s not far to the end of the forest. 

By the time she gets to a clearing there’s a metallic taste in her mouth. The sky is grey and bright, and at this moment the Doctor feels very lost. The Master’s last words ring in her ears, so she finds a nice, large rock and sits down next to it, leaning against the stone.

“I’ll wait here,” she says to no one in particular. 

An hour or so passes and the Doctor has won over herself in a carefully constructed game of tic-tac-toe with twigs and rocks about one hundred and eight times before she spots a figure jogging in her direction in the far distance and a distinct feel returns to her fingertips, pulling her towards him. She gets up immediately and runs to meet him halfway.

“Master-” she says,  _ mastermastermaster _ .

“I’m fine,” he pants, forehead drenched in sweat, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

The Master doesn’t answer and starts walking away from the forest.

-

A few more hours pass as they follow some roads and traverse another, much bigger forest in silence, but the Doctor doesn’t feel the need to talk them away, the familiar press of his mind against hers enough until they reach a big, open field, filled with fallen trees and dead grass around the ruins of an old, burned-down farm filling the Doctor with an unsettling presence. 

Realisation slowly dawns on the Doctor’s face. “Is that…?”

He swallows hard and she can see how his jaw sets, hesitant to turn around. She stops walking.

“Don’t,” he warns heavily. He looks angry.

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Did you- did you know it was here the entire time?”

The Master doesn’t say anything as his hands clench into fists.

“Answer me.”

“It’s broken.”

“ _ Answer me _ ,” the Doctor shouts immediately.

He swallows again, like the words are hard to say. “I couldn’t go back.”

“I’m sorry, you couldn’t go  _ back _ ? That’s your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse.”

The Doctor breathes heavily through her nose. “Then  _ what _ is it?”

“The truth,” he snarls at her, like a growl from the back of his throat.

The Doctor steps back in disbelief, putting her hands up. “Was this what you wanted? Was this your plan all along?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t fucking  _ plan _ for this-”

“Then  _ what _ ?! Then why did you  _ keep _ me here all this time-”

“I didn’t  _ keep _ you here!”

“You’re a fucking liar!” The Doctor screams in a roar of rage, balling her hand into a fist and putting all her strength into punching him hard in the nose,  _ run, Doctor, runrunrunrun _ , before sprinting as fast as she can towards the ruined TARDIS.

“ _ Fuck _ !” He yells, leaning backwards in pain and holding his face for a moment before he sets after her.

She’s always been faster than him. She jumps over pieces of wreckage looking like decaying planks and pieces of wood before tearing the door open and shutting it hard behind her, locking it right before the Master crashes against the door and pounds on it with his fist. 

“ _ Doctor,  _ I  _ swear- _ ”

She ignores him and turns towards the console. There’s rubble and fire damage everywhere, the wreckage only illuminated by a few broken lights and she steps back with a jolt. Her back hits the door before she slowly sinks down against it towards the ground, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands, her entire body finally sinking into pain and exhaustion. 

“ _ Doctor _ .”

She can’t bring herself to answer.

“Let me in.”

This body doesn’t like to cry, so she quickly wipes the tears away with the back of her hand and shuts her eyes. 

She feels him sit down and lean against the door from the other side. She tries to swallow away the lump in her throat.

“So  _ this _ is what’s gonna happen?” He asks from outside. “Just open the door.”

She shakes her head even if he can’t see her.

“I didn’t- look,  _ fuck _ , I didn’t  _ plan _ this. I didn’t. Fuck. I  _ really _ thought you’d end it, on Gallifrey. But you  _ didn’t _ . But then we ended up here, and I didn’t think you’d destroy your own TARDIS, and I don’t know why I’m still alive. And it’s  _ you _ . It’s always you.” He sighs and leans his head against the door with a soft thud.

“What are you going to do, Doctor? Leave me here and travel the universe alone again? We all saw how well that went last time.

“You’re always  _ running _ . And you’ll never stop.”

There’s a long silence. The Doctor begs that voice in the back of her head to say something, anything, but for once it’s quiet. It takes her a while, but eventually she slowly staggers to her knees, resting her forehead against the door. 

“Okay,” she says. She stands up on shaky feet and unlocks the door.

Seconds that feel like hours pass and the Master carefully opens it and steps inside. She looks at him with hurt and anger. “I need to track down my own TARDIS,” she says in a shaky voice. “And I don’t trust you enough to leave you alone, so you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t say anything. She walks to the console, brushing her hands over the time rotor. It hums and chimes weakly under her touch. 

“All right? So help me pilot this thing. There should be enough life left in her for one more ride.”

“I’m not sure if-”

“I’m  _ not _ waiting two hundred years. I  _ can’t _ .”

“Doctor-”

“ _ Now _ ,” she says darkly, the broken TARDIS hissing and glowing as he joins her at the opposite side of the console, making a mechanical chime as the Doctor starts flicking small levers and buttons to prepare them for flight. She enters in the coordinates and the ship clearly tries to resist what they’re about to do. 

The Master looks at her and holds onto the console as she takes a deep breath and flings them into the vortex. 

Immediately sounds of mechanical wails echoes through the TARDIS and the few working alarms flashes dangerously red as the entire ship shakes. They both try to pilot the best they can, running around the console as the glass around the time rotor cracks.

The Doctor only hears the Master frantically shout “the anti-gravs-” over all the noise and suddenly the TARDIS quakes and sends her flying to the cold floor as the cloister bells ring through the room, the noise so utterly gut-wrenching that she almost reaches for the Master for support. 

She winces as she scrapes her hands on the hard ground, no time to gather her surroundings as the ship keeps jolting with uncomfortable twangs, almost indistinguishable under all the noises of the sputtering engine and the chiming filling her head. The Doctor tries to grip the console but recoils instantly as it’s burning hot, and abruptly the gravitational hold on the room lets go and they’re pummelled through the air, hitting the sharp walls with heavy thuds, and then the floor as the whole room turns again before suddenly, the entire ship goes dead silent.

The Doctor coughs as she tries to slowly stagger up to her feet, one arm holding around her front, hissing through her teeth and grimacing as her other hand flies to hold her shoulder, hurting immensely from where she hit the wall.  _ Some fractured ribs. Maybe a bruised spine. Dislocated shoulder? Nothing you can’t deal with _ . Her head spins as adrenaline spikes through her, feeling an unsettling sensation crawl along her skin and pulsating from her very core, slowly reaching through her body and putting her on edge, like a feeling that something is very, very  _ wrong _ . A sudden drop in temperature is making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

She casts an unsure glance to the Master, slowly sitting up and holding his head in pain. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes.” He nods carefully, looking towards the doors where chill seems to be spreading from.

She casts a glance at the broken monitor displays before she walks closer to the exit. There’s no light coming through the windows. For every step it gets colder and colder, and she lets out a shiver as she reaches the door and opens them, slowly, sounding a menacing creak.

The Doctor steps out, eyes wide open, surrounded by blackness as the doors slam shut behind her.  _ You’ve been here before. _ She blinks awake, a nauseating feeling spiking through her head sending her reeling towards the cold ground covered with dark, shadowy damp grass.

There’s nothing around her. Only the cold and the dark and tons of psionic radiation making her sick to her stomach. It still feels like she’s being watched. She’s moving slower here – like time itself is moving slower. And then – she looks up, directly at a single six-petaled flower of remembrance.

“ _ No _ ,” she manages to gasp out, voice hoarse as she lurches backwards and scrambles to get away from it in fear. It stands tall in the dark grass, shining brightly golden yellow as the darkness pommel closer and closer around her. She doesn’t know why it brings tears to her eyes, the cold, stomach-turning radiation feeling like long icy fingers digging their way so painfully through her brain and wringing a bloodcurdling scream of pain from her lips as the flower only seems to get bigger and bigger the further she crawls away from it, her scream echoing through this bleak and empty universe.

Suddenly her back hits the door of the stolen TARDIS, breath hitching in her throat as she rushes to turn around and open the door only to find that the chameleon circuit has disguised it as a horrifyingly familiar blue police box.

The Doctor stumbles back in surprise, that cold feeling breathing down the nape of her neck, sounding like a whisper in her ear. She jumps and turns around, but there’s nothing there except for the flower rapidly coming closer, growing by the second.

For a moment she almost can’t stop watching it, enthralled, before quickly turning around. That hollow yellow-golden light emanating from it is the only light source for miles and casts a sickly glow on her hands as she struggles to open the doors, banging her hand against the glass. Her shadow grows longer and longer and something drops in her chest as it approaches, stilling behind her. She swallows and tries to look, but she can’t, suddenly frozen still by the cold.

“What are you?” She tries to ask as calmly as she can, unable to turn around. It seems like an eternity passes. “What do you want?” There’s a long pause before her own voice answers in her mind, sending shivers down her spine. 

_ Doctor _ . It sounds old and tired and like it’s struggling to find words.

She sees the light grow brighter and brighter behind her as something heavy slowly touches her shoulder. Her hearts beat wildly against her chest again as sweat starts to collect on her brow, taking a deep breath before fighting against that paralysing fear with all the emotions she’s feeling in one big blast, just enough to rattle at the doors and pry them open with all her might before running inside and slamming them behind her, not once looking back.

The Master looks at her in absolute bewilderment as she runs past him to the console and immediately flips the levers and the buttons she needs to push to get them out of her, the wrecked TARDIS hissing angrily beneath her touch, protesting as she forces it to leave this universe the same way they came in. She feels the TARDIS starting to shake again as it struggles not to explode around them, completely overworking its capacities. The Master runs to her as smoke starts coming out of the console and tries to drag her away from it, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“ _ No _ !” She shouts desperately, trashing against his grip.

“You’re gonna blow us up!”

She kicks backwards, hitting him right in the groin. “ _ Fuck _ !” He shouts as he doubles over, hissing in pain.

The Doctor sprints to the other side of the console, a horrid sound screeching through their heads as they start dematerialising. “We  _ need _ to go,” she shouts back at him, her voice breaking as all the noise and steam keep filling the console room.

“Oh, you –  _ bitch _ ,” she catches him sneering at her under his breath as he staggers to the controls, helping her to somehow get them out of the pocket universe and violently crashing into the one they came from, rubble and debris falling over them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for commenting! it always makes my day and keeps me inspired to finish this story :)

The sun shines brightly in the Master’s eyes as he walks along the pier, clenching a brown paper bag. It’s summer and golden, and everywhere he goes happy and free-spirited people will smile at him like there’s no tomorrow. Not a cloud in the sky. He hates it.

He catches a glimpse of himself in a store-front window as he goes past, looking over the black-white pinstriped suit slacks and green high collared shirt tucked neatly into his pants, making him blend in seamlessly with the rest of the seventies. He shrugs and keeps on walking. He never figured out why the Doctor has been so particularly fond of this era.

Along the road there’s neatly cut grass and small flowers growing. He’s been so tempted to peek into the Doctor’s mind, find out what happened, but there’s just _something_ that stops him every time, and it makes him want to claw his own eyes out. It doesn’t take long before he reaches the small house at the end of the street and he carefully fishes out the key from his pocket as he balances the paper bag against his chest with his other hand, unlocking the door.

Inside, the stolen TARDIS looks almost like new, and there’s a coat stand by the entry that looks hauntingly familiar to a certain maniac’s old interior design. The Master guesses he’s just a nostalgic. 

The weeks have gone by fast. He’s gone through the entirety of several earth-book series, making annoyed suggestions with a pen in the margins, and he’s had a lot of time to rebuild the TARDIS. It should be mostly working, he thinks, except for the deadly gas leakage in corridor 78 and the fact that it’s unable to travel. 

Mostly he’s spent his time by the Doctor’s side. The Master doesn’t like to sleep alone. The Doctor doesn’t know this. He does his best to keep crucial information like that from her, a weakness and fear all in one. He’s a very bipolar sleeper, so his habits are often at extreme opposites of each other. Sometimes he can sleep for days if given the chance, and others he’ll wake for weeks - and just because he doesn’t like to sleep alone it doesn’t make him trusting in any way. There is only one creature in all of existence he would willingly sit by as he tries not to let his guard down, even if it’s the creature that he truly does fear the most.

He makes his way to the medbay, placing the paper bag on a nearby table and checking the Doctor’s vital signs in the process. He had to place her in a stasis chamber while he fixed the most pressing damages to her body, mostly trying to counteract the radiation poisoning, but now she’s sleeping soundly in a bed propped up against some pillows, drifting in and out of consciousness in her healing coma. He frowns at the bruise at her temple and forehead that’s still there and wonders what she dreams about. 

The Master purses his lips trying to decide if he should stay or go tinker at something useless until it’s improved in some way. It scares him how he’s slowly, throughout all his lives, picked up small habits from the Doctor even though he tries to fight it. He decides to think about it later and heads for the door, pausing suddenly when he hears a noise behind him.

“Hey,” the Doctor says weakly. He looks at her with furrowed brows. She looks rough, bruises peeking up from the top of the loose white t-shirt, hair tousled and unbrushed, dark circles beneath her eyes, still looking a lot like how he found her underneath all the rubble and debris, blood from her head soaking her shirt - but at least not as pale. 

“You’re awake,” he notes.

She huffs and tries to smile. “Yeah.” 

He looks at her for another second before heading for the paper bag. “I got you the damn celery you kept whining about.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You talk a lot in your sleep,” he says casually as he digs it up from the bag and walks over to her before throwing it gently in her lap and sitting down in the chair beside her bed. 

“Huh. Well, thanks, I guess.” She regards it carefully before she takes a big bite, chewing on it loudly. “Great snack,” she says through a mouthful of celery, pointing at it. “I’ll admit - not the best accessory.” 

The Master rolls his eyes. He thinks he might like her better when she’s asleep. “You don’t say.”

“How long was I out?”

“Just a week or two,” he says as if he doesn’t know it’s been exactly twelve days. 

“A _week_?!” 

“Or two,” he confirms.

She looks at him with those wide green eyes of hers in disbelief. “Why didn’t you - why didn’t you, well, I dunno, just wake me up or something?”

He frowns at her. “You needed to rest.”

She takes another angry bite of the celery.

“I met Jack,” he tries, as a peace-offering.

“Harkness?”

He rolls his eyes again. “No, another Jack.”

She raises her eyebrows expectantly. “Well, what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t- _stars_ , Mast-”

“I’m kidding!” He says it like it’s a funny inside joke. ”I killed him.”

“ _You-_ ”

He raises his hands in defence. “I’m kidding! Actually, I’m not. But I got his teleportation device.”

“ _One_ rule!” She sighs in exasperation, leaning her head back against the pillows. “No killing. And no hurting innocent people. And no hypnotising!”

“That’s three rules. And you weren’t conscious, so technically it doesn’t count.”

She glares at him.

“Anyway, I’ve started tinkering, love. We should be able to track the coordinates to your TARDIS as soon as I’m done.”

“I can do it,” she says, sitting up in the bed with a pained look on her face. “I was always quicker than you. Get it done in an hour, tops.”

“No,” he says with annoyance, like the comment doesn’t bother him. Not at all. “You’re going to rest.”

She makes a dissatisfied noise and sinks back into the pillows, taking another bite of her celery. “Unfair,” she mumbles tiredly, and he smiles when her eyes start to droop.

The Master considers her for a moment, trying to figure what to say. “This TARDIS is absolutely kaput, though. Won’t be able to travel more in this one.”

“Good thing you got that vortex manipulator, then,” she says, clearly fighting the tiredness.

“I knew you would say that. Dying is the only thing that man’s good for anyway.”

She weakly tries to move her foot in a pathetic attempt to kick him the best she can from the bed, making him laugh.

-

It’s only been a day before the Doctor comes into the control room looking for him.

The Master peeks up at her from where he lies under the console, sleeves rolled up and working on some panels, grease staining his fingers. He frowns at her, looking at her beaten state. “What are you doing up?”

“I was bored,” she says casually, making her way over and squatting down beside him. She points at what he’s doing. “That’s wrong, you know.”

He thinks about the last time she was bored and smirks for a second, rolling around and removing himself from the wiring, slowly getting up. “You should be resting.”

She scoffs overdramatically. “I’m _fine_.” You could say the Doctor was bad at lying, but that would be like saying a bull is bad at being in a china shop. “I finished the book you left at the nightstand anyway. Some idiot’s been scrawling in the margins.”

He stares at her.

The Doctor looks at him with an expectant smile before clapping the console with one hand. “Let’s go.”

The Master shakes his head in exasperation.“ _Where?_ ”

“Somewhere. Anywhere _._ I need to get up, get moving. I can’t stay still like this.”

“You’re not going anywhere until this is working,” he says quickly, too quickly. He _doesn’t_ care, he wants to scream, jump her with teeth and nails and claw her bloody.

“Then let me help.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, irritability suddenly prickling at his skin, that looming question crashing over him like something heavy in his chest. “Doctor.”

She looks at him.

“I tried to trace the readings but it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Instantly it’s like there’s a mountain between them and she tenses up. She’s too used to traveling with those disgusting humans, he thinks, all jokes and smiles and never having to be held accountable for her actions.

“What did you see?”

She runs a hand through her hair and tucks a strand behind her ear before scratching her neck unsurely. It’s the same tells she’s always had.

He waits for her to speak.

“I’ve… er, been there before.” She swallows thickly. “Remember the anti-matter universe?”

The Master stares at her. “Right.”

She gives an awkward nod. “Yeah.”

“What did you-”

“-He was there. I’m sure of it. And I don’t know how, or why, but he wanted to scare me. It was like he was taunting me. I mean, talk about holding a grudge.” Her hands fickle nervously with the long sleep shirt.

“That’s why your body is healing so slowly,” he says meekly, mostly to himself, looking at the big bruise across her face. There’s something subdued and angry building up inside of him, bit by bit, but all-consuming. “The psionic radiation.”

“Something like that,” she nods. “But it’s fine. We got out of there in one piece, yeah? It’s fine.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Right, well,” she says, clapping her hands together and putting on her usual demeanour. “Do you have any clothes?” 

-

She spends a long time going through the wardrobe, carefully considering the items of clothing, eventually settling on a pair of horrifyingly red, high-waisted pants with wide legs and an extremely loud yellow shirt tucked into them, a huge grin on her face as she pulls a knitted striped vest on top for the final touch. 

“Eh?” She does a small spin to show off, forgetting that there was no one there with her. Her face sinks a little as the only pair of eyes she meets are in the mirror. “Okay, that’s alright,” she says quietly to herself, stroking over the fabric of her vest. 

-

There’s a lot of things the Master doesn’t tell the Doctor. The echo of his heartbeats still ring in his ears like drums.

_One-two-three-four._

When they were young, the Doctor told the Master that she’d do anything for him. He wonders if that’s still true. When they were young, the Doctor said she would be with him forever, then she left. 

It annoys him that she will never see through his eyes. She refuses to. Even back then. _One-two-three-four._

He never told her about what he saw in the temporal schism. She figured it out on her own. Always asking him questions, trying to figure him out, like she was something different from him. Of course she was right. 

He keeps seeing the emperor in his hands seconds before life drains out of his body and feeling happy. Like something balanced in him, if just for a second. Then the look in the Doctor’s eyes. He keeps seeing everything, the planets, the universe, the doctor, the burning, the doctor, _doctordoctordoctor_. His hands keep shaking. 

The Master thinks a lot about Gallifrey. There’s fire and ash and everything is in ruins around him. And he was happy, if only for a second. There’s something in him, there’s always been something in him, in his hands, that craves more. S _haking_ _hands, bloodied hands_. It craves destruction.

_One-two-three-four_. Like a sickness in the back of his head.

There’s a lot of things the Master doesn’t tell the Doctor, but she still finds him huddled over a workbench in a room near the library, deliberately coughing to get his attention. “What do you think?”

The Master shuts his eyes before looking up briefly at what she’s wearing. He just shakes his head at her, and with that, judging from her expression, her work is apparently done. He scoffs and returns to the vortex manipulator.

“It’s dark in here,” she notes, nodding to the single light illuminating the table.

He doesn’t turn around. “I’m aware.” 

“I guess you’ve always liked the dark. I feel _great_.”

“You shouldn’t”, he says grumpily, taking as much space over the workbench as possible. 

“Shush, you,” she says with undeniable spirit and comes closer, squinting at what he’s doing. “That’s wrong.”

He rolls his eyes and throws the mechanism down on the table with an annoyed sound from the back of his throat. “Leave me be and go bother something else. I’m trying to work.”

“Let me help.”

He shakes his head. “You’re too annoying.”

“Here,” she says, pulling another chair next to his and into his space. He sighs as she sits down, grabbing the cube from his hands. “You’re trying to adjust the location destabiliser, yeah? You were never good at the practical stuff.”

“I’m going to strangle you,” he says, clenching his fists.

“Well, it does feel like you’re up to something, anyway. So if you’re planning something big and world-ending, you should probably work on your poker face. But I’ll deal with that later,” she mumbles, seemingly talking more to herself than to him as she picks at the wirings in the cube. 

He sighs and leans back in his chair, watching her work as her knee touches his. The Doctor’s presence calms him, somehow, dulls the fire in his head. He doesn’t like having her around. It makes him angry. All he knows is fire.

So the Master doesn’t tell her that for once, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Because what do you do when you finally have what you wanted the most?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo long time no see! lot of stuff has been happening, but this is still going! drop a comment and let me know if you're still into the fic!! :D

The answer is, of course, you die. Slowly. Because you love them. 

_-_

_“Doctor?” It’s dark in the console room as the Master regains consciousness. He coughs violently and starts digging his way out of the rubble. She doesn’t answer. “…Doctor?” He asks again, hesitantly, and gets up on his feet. No one answers. The TARDIS is silent._

_He finds her body immediately. Like a crushed mannequin beneath heavy stone. There’s a lot of blood and the Doctor is very pale. She doesn’t respond and tears form in his eyes as he drags her towards him._

_-_

The days pass by quickly with the Doctor awake. The Master finds himself looking at her more often than he would like, scowling at her with dark eyes and a frown on his face. This body of hers almost reminds him of a small boy with blonde hair who was scared of the dark. She was just a child. She didn’t know what she was back then. Neither did he.

The Master doesn’t really feel anything anymore. He remembers feeling sad and jealous and betrayed, but now there’s only that white-hot anger that roars like an echo in his chest and the only thing that seems to calm it is the Doctor. The Master doesn’t find as much time to dwell on his thoughts when she’s constantly bothering him with one thing or the next. His hands keep shaking when he thinks about it and he wants it all to burn.

The Doctor is unable to regain consciousness for more than a few hours at a time and insists on working on finding her TARDIS during the time she’s awake, something which, frankly, pisses the Master off. He hates how she always has to show off and be so damn reckless all the time. Be better than him. Her sole _existence_ makes him just like the rest of them, useless lying thieves who deserve nothing other than death. 

They work until she passes out from exhaustion, and he finds himself more often than not carrying her back to bed in the infirmary. The Doctor doesn’t mention it, so neither does he. 

She seems more or less the same back to her usual cheery facade by the time they’ve mostly fixed the trackers on the stolen TARDIS. Except for the small fact that her bruises don’t fade. She refuses to let him do any more tests, so when she sleeps he spends his time trying to trace the signals back to the anti-matter universe just to find something, anything, that could give him a pointer to what’s still in her. 

-

_A long time ago two children laugh and yell as they run and tumble through a field under the dark night sky, barely able to keep up with each other. The smallest one almost loses their grip on the other’s hand as they stumble over some twigs nearby to the river._

_“Thete!” The boy with darkest hair exclaims, turning around immediately to help them up._

_The little boy called Theta laughs. “I’m fine! I’m fine, look, it’s just a scrape.”_

_The other boy sighs, rolling his eyes and pushing Theta’s shoulder hard. “You moron! Be less careful and you’ll lose a limb soon.”_

_“Yeah, like you won’t be the one ‘accidentally’ tripping me over.”_

_“Come on,” the boy called Koschei says, laughing at Theta’s disgruntled face. “There’s something I want to show you.”_

_Theta looks at him with a smile. “So you said. Is it far?”_

_“No, just over that hill there.”_

_When they get there Koschei takes Theta’s hand again and points to the star-spangled sky. “There.”_

_“What? The stars?” Theta laughs. “Kosch, you know I’ve seen them before, right?”_

_“No, there!” Koschei says, pointing more intently towards a brightly shining star._

_A few seconds pass as Theta squints at the sky, trying to recognise the constellations. “What is it?”_

_“Earth,” Koschei grins proudly._

_Theta looks at him with big eyes. “Really?”_

_“Well, no. But we can pretend, if you’d like.”_

-

The Doctor sits up in the dark of the infirmary, letting her legs dangle off the bed and breathing heavily as a sheen of sweat covers her skin. The sheets are damp and tangled and she feels sick to her stomach. 

She wants to stand up and get back to work but her entire body is shivering and numb. It feels like something is watching her through the darkness, paralysing her as soon as she’s aware of it.

She closes her eyes and there’s a painful feeling behind her eyes like her head’s about to split. The Doctor swallows hard and hesitates, considering the situation for a moment. She’s too weak to move and too exhausted to speak. She swallows again and reaches out past her throbbing headache and through the hollow TARDIS.

_Contact._

She feels his attention draw to her and his presence aches in her head. _What is it?_

_Nothing. Nightmare._

He doesn’t say anything and she thinks that maybe she shouldn’t either. After a little while he appears from one of the hallways, backlit by the golden corridor lights.

The Doctor forces herself to speak before he can come any closer. “I think there’s someone here.”

The Master looks at her and she meets his eyes across the room. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and I can’t move.”

“Doctor, there’s no one here.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while, shivering and digging her nails into her palms. “I can’t _move_.” 

He walks towards her, carefully reaching out to take one of her hands in his, slowly forcing her fingers out of her clenched fist and gently feels her forehead with his other hand as her teeth chatter. “You’re burning up.”

The Doctor closes her eyes and tries to shake her head. She feels really, really cold. The Master’s fingertips graces her temple and lingers there. His voice is tentative when he speaks. “Is it okay if I...?”

She does her best attempt at a nod, and he enters her mind like running his hands through water. There’s a blinding light behind her eyes and far away the Master tightens his grip on her hand to steady her. He seems hesitant in the way he skims through her head, carefully carding through her thoughts and making his way to her dreams. He stills and lets it swallow them, pulling them into memories they’ve both tried to forget. 

Grimy smoke fills the air around them and it’s hard to breathe, like trying to catch your breath underwater. Everything moves slower around them and it’s like watching an old videotape from the wrong side of an aquarium. Somewhere she senses the Master still completely as they see two all too familiar children without the burden of their names run through the bodies of their people and the burning ruins of Gallifrey, laughing and yelling with the golden warm glow from the twin suns shining on their faces.

_You... dream about us?_

It takes her a while to respond. _You don’t?_

The Doctor feels the kind of tired you can only feel if you’ve lived too long. Her body sinks in on itself in its exhaustion as her dreams fade further and further away from her until they’re a grainy echo of what it used to be. She tries to recall how it felt when she was small and the universe was very big.

“It’s okay,” she hears him say somewhere, gently guiding her body back into the bed as she drifts off into a dreamless state. “Go to sleep.”

-

The console room has turned into a workspace with notes and plans scattered all over the floor, panels turned inside-out with wires hanging out of them. The Master walks in to the Doctor sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating some noodles out of a take-out box while scribbling wildly on a paper in front of her. He sighs. 

“What’s for dinner?”

“Oh,” she says, looking up at him with a startled expression. “Here,” she mumbles through a mouthful while reaching out to hand him the box with one hand, wiping the corner of her mouth for leftover food with the other one holding the pen. “Didn’t know where you’d wandered off to, so I only got one.” 

“You went out?” He asks, glaring at it for a few seconds before he takes it, sitting down on the floor beside her as he takes a bite and leans against the wall.

“Yeah. Nice little place right around the corner.” 

“You shouldn’t do that. You have to be careful.”

She smiles at him. “Careful is my middle name.”

“You’re still not -” he starts, shaking his head as unease builds up in his throat. “There’s still something _wrong_ with you, Doctor,” he says, looking at her with furrowed brows as he suddenly feels angry and nauseous, placing the food down on the floor. “Your bruises _still_ haven’t healed and your bones wouldn’t have either if I hadn’t-”

“So? It’s probably just a lingering effect from the radiation poisoning,” she says to cut him off, her mouth still going as the Master’s hands start to shake again. “Which means it’ll probably blow by any day now, considering. My body did go from matter to antimatter and back again-”

“Doctor,” he interrupts her with a frustrated snarl, abruptly banging his fist against the floor and looking at her with dark, dark eyes.

The Doctor drops her pen in surprise, and does, for once, not say a word. 

“I _know_ it’s ‘probably just a lingering effect from the radiation poisoning.’ And I don’t _care_ , Doctor. What it _means_ is that I can do _this_ ,” he growls with the anger building up in his chest as he seizes her arm, pressing his fingers strongly against her skin, pressing harder and _harder and harder and harder_ as the Doctor tries to struggle away from his grip. “And it _won’t_ go away.”

There’s a second where they just look at each other, the Doctor’s lips parting just the slightest.

“So what happens if someone breaks your neck?”

“Master, stop,” she says in a worried voice, casting an unsure glance to where he bruises her skin, feeling the heartbeats ring in his ears like drums. “You’re hurting me.” 

“Do you think you’ll be able to regenerate, _love_ ?” He hisses, pressing harder. “ _Do you?_ ”

Her body tenses and for a second, all the dread on her face disappears and she looks at him for a long time. 

“I don’t know,” she finally says with this sort of hurt, angry honesty, before slowly taking his other hand with hers and placing it around her neck. She holds it firmly there with a fire in her eyes. She swallows thickly and he can feel every movement in her throat against his palm. “Why don’t you find out?”

He halts, that fire spreading from her, growing in him and _it burns it burns it burns_. “Do you want me to?”

She tilts her chin up towards him like it’s a sick, twisted challenge. “Maybe,” she spits, baring her teeth. “Do you?” His words sound from her mouth and she burns in his shaking hands, _she burns she burns she burns_.

There’s a small second where everything is Gallifrey and the universe and the screaming and the hurt and the pain beneath his fingers and in that second all he can feel is an exploding _rage_ all through his body, and in that second he wraps his hand tighter around her throat until he’s choking her out, pushing his entire weight onto her as his heartbeats drum in his ears. 

The Doctor winces in pain and suddenly he can feel her pulse against his skin again and how easy it would be to crush her neck right here, right now, and scrambles as far away from her as he can.

“Bastard,” she coughs, breathing heavily.

He runs his hand through his hair and doesn’t look at her as he gets up and heads for the corridors. “Don’t do that again.”

The Doctor sits alone on the floor of the console room and softly places her own hand over the bruises forming on her throat as his footsteps echo further and further away from her.

-

Later, darkness wraps around the Doctor’s frame where she sits by herself in the library and she feels smaller and more vulnerable than ever, gently placing her hands around her torso for comfort. She misses having the body of a man, sometimes. It was certainly easier. Now it just feels like her body is mocking her, rubbing it in her face that she’s at a disadvantage in this form and urging her to run until she collapses. Maybe she’ll regenerate. Maybe she won’t.

She finds that she doesn’t really care. She’s just really, properly tired.

But somehow, as the Doctor moves from room to room in hopes of finding somewhere she won’t run into the Master, she manages to avoid him completely. She finds several libraries, another research room, and after a while she stumbles into the primary garden. 

It isn’t very extravagant, just a simple greenroom in an enclosed space with a projected sky for growing necessities that follows with the standard TARDISES, but it’s still nice and green and has the illusion of fresher air. The Doctor misses her own gardens. It never really occurs to her how much she misses her TARDIS before she’s separated from it. It truly is her home now.

“S’nice,” she says silently to herself, swinging her hands along her side and tilting her head at the red grass. “Bit basic.”

Birdsong and a cool breeze fills the large room as she promptly sits down cross-legged on the ground with a pained grunt, places the notes she brought in front of her on the grass and starts working on how to link the vortex manipulator to the navigation systems without available chronoplasm. Her hands do most of the working as her mind wanders. 

_Always gotta keep your hands busy, right, Doctor?_ A voice in her head that sounds too much like the Master asks her smugly, and she flinches, turning to see if he’s standing right behind her - but there is nothing but seemingly endless fields.

 _Shut up_ , she tells the voice with a frown as she returns to the device. _I don’t need to start thinking right now. It just fucks everything up, thank you very much._

_What if I’m not yours to save, Doctor? ...And what if I don’t want to be saved?_

_Oh, shut up, would you._ Her nose scrunches and the vortex manipulator makes a small chiming sound. _That’s not why I’m doing this._

In her mind the Master crosses his arms and makes an annoyed face at her, looking at her with big, blood-shot eyes. _Then why did you look for me?_

 _Because I-_ the Doctor suddenly stills, realising she’s done her best to avoid answering that question. A thousand half-truths and just plain untruths run through her head as her hearts beat heavily against her chest.

 _Oh, because I’m lonely,_ she sneers, interrupting the lies forming on her tongue and throwing her hand to the side in a big angry gesture. _Okay? Is that not what you wanted to hear? I don’t want to be alone. It hurts too much. I can’t lose you again._

There’s no reply.

 _Okay?_ She cries in her head to the vast red fields _. Can I be selfish just this one time? Can’t the universe just give me this one thing?_

There’s no trace of the Master and she thinks that maybe all of it actually was in her head as her fingers gently linger over the bruises on her throat again.

-

It doesn’t take long before her footsteps echo through the corridor as she runs for the console room, vortex manipulator in hand. Her body feels like a sick thing, exhausted and heavy and it gets harder to breathe with every step. 

The Doctor makes it to the console, steadying herself on it as she fights the nausea rising in her chest before using this TARDIS’ navigation systems to track down her own TARDIS and type the coordinates into the vortex manipulator. She straps it tightly around her wrist and considers getting the Master. Then she considers _talking_ to the Master, and flings herself through the time vortex instead. 

There’s a flash and a painful bright light, and then she’s falling through the universe. She feels her entire body warp through time and space and then she staggers out into New York, 1991, making a loud yelp of discomfort as the void radiation burns her skin. 

She takes a deep breath and looks up at the dark sky, a smile slowly spreading across her features as snowflakes fall in her face and hair and eyelashes. It’s Christmas, and just down the street is her TARDIS. 

A long time ago there was a desert and a ghost monument, but she only cares for the overwhelming feeling of home that washes over her as she runs towards her brilliantly blue ship safely parked near Hudson river. “Hello, you,” she beams, out of breath as she runs her palm over the front door with a grin.

-

The Doctor spends a lot of time in her TARDIS after she locates it. It is a time machine, after all, and she reckons it’s okay if she takes a small time-out to just think for a while. 

She runs several scans and tests and not even her own ship can tell her what’s wrong with her body. Frustrated by the lack of answers, the Doctor eventually starts rummaging through the TARDIS. All those clothes left in the wardrobe by passersby and not-passersby and all that is left of them is memories and an old jacket here and there. In the library she finds half-graded school reports dusting away at a table. She reckons no one will be needing them anytime soon, so she just leaves them be.

After a while, she ends up in a room that never really had a name. River used to call it her “memento room”, laughing and calling her a nostalgic old man. And the Doctor guesses that is true - if it is anything at all it might as well be her room of memories.

It’s just as much memories as it is a sort of sad, messy museum with shelves and cupboards filled to the brim with all these forgotten objects. Near the entrance hangs an umbrella once used to defeat an ice woman and one with a question mark as a handle, and on a nearby shelf stands a small replica of the TARDIS that looks like it was painted by a child who believed in stars. There’s some enamel pins that must have fallen off a jean jacket some time, a plush of a customer service pig shoved far back into a closet somewhere and a bat balancing on a boom box in a corner. Stacks of books tower from the floor and peek out from some shelves, including Melody Malone and a copy of Every Gallifreyan Child’s Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions. If you look closely enough there’s schoolbooks falling apart at the edges with the name “Susan” written neatly in the corners, and somewhere, hidden behind a lot of other things, an old cradle once borrowed to a friend.

The Doctor hardly comes in here anymore. The older she gets, the more forgotten objects wind up in here, and the harder it is to face all these items left behind by someone she once loved.

It’s easier to ignore all of it as she searches for the item she came looking for. After a while of digging through old boxes stuffed with all kinds of stuff, she finally finds it, clasping her fingers around a small circular disk made out of golden metal, and takes the confession dial up into the air to look at it. As she turns it over in the dusty room, a small source of light catches in the metals and the disk burns in her hand with all the psychic energy and memories the Master put into it, all compressed into three words.

She pockets the confession dial and runs back to the console room, breathing heavily by the time she gets there. Her fingers shake as she presses in the coordinates and tries to read the screen through her blurry eyesight. The familiar sound of the brakes fill her head and the Doctor is flung to the floor as they land, laughing and coughing at the same time. 

“Good one, old girl,” she shouts with a smile, as her thoughts briefly fly to falling on the same floor lifetimes ago with a girl called Rose.

The Doctor gets up carefully, making her way to the doors and walks out into bright California air and turns around to close the doors behind her.

“Doctor!” She suddenly hears through the crowd and turns immediately, seeing a familiar face with a long blue great coat running towards her.

Her jaw drops for a second before her entire face turns into a huge grin. “Jack!” 

The Doctor runs to him and he grabs her face and presses his lips to hers enthusiastically. She smiles and kisses him back, letting her entire body fall into happy memories and a big, soft body she doesn’t have to be scared of. He leans back and wraps the Doctor into a big hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. 

She sighs and sinks into that familiar feeling of him and buries her face into a hug she didn’t know she needed. She sinks into the mad, simple _wrongness_ of his being, feeling the timelines spinning around them and her senses curling around how impossible it should be to hug a fixed point in time and space as he puts her down. 

“It’s good to see you,” she sighs and smiles, resting a hand on his arm. He grins back.

“I saw him, Doc,” he says, still catching his breath. “Just a few days ago, the Master, he was here and I tried to get him but he, uh, y’know,” he demonstrates the end of his sentence by pretending to snap his own neck and clicking his tongue. 

“Yeah, so I heard,” she says, nodding to the empty place on his wrist.

“Wait, you finally found him?”

“Well, er, sort of. It’s a long story. Can I buy you a drink?”

-

“Nice haircut,” he nods at her over his drink in a small Californian diner, sun shining in through the windows. “Last time I saw you it was, well. Long.”

The Doctor smiles and takes an amused sip of her own drink. “You used to be a lot better at flirting.”

“I’m not flirting,” he chuckles and cheekily winks at her for good measure.

“Oh, you’re always flirting.”

He laughs, raising his glass to her before taking a sip. “Well, you used to be a lot better at running away from me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not running away from you!”

“You’re always running, Doc,” he says, still laughing, but there’s a sad undertone to his voice. “I know you.”

“Ah, shut up,” she scoffs at him, nose all scrunched and gestures her hand in a dismissive wave. “So, anyway, Russia was great, but yeah, then we ended up crashing here.”

“So you’re traveling with him now?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

She purses her lips together. “I, uh, I guess I sorta am,” she says and takes a big sip of her drink to avoid having to explain.

“You’ve gotta be careful. He’s dangerous.”

Her hand lingers over the bruise on her inner arm concealed by her shirt and sighs. “I know.”

Jack leans closer to her over the table. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I really don’t think he’s going to magically turn _good_ in the next few centuries.”

“Well, you never know,” she tuts, trying her best to smile really casually. “I have a knack for fixing things.”

“The Master’s not _broken_ , Doctor,” he says in a low voice. “He’s not something you can fix.”

“Look, Jack,” she says in a voice that sounds dark and ancient, older than any being in the universe ever should be - weighed down by billions of years of loss and sorrow not even half-finished yet, as far as she knows. The Doctor takes his warm hand for a second before resting her palm back down on the table and being painfully truthful. 

“If he’s with me, then... I’m the only one he can hurt. If he’s with me, _no one_ else is in danger.”

Jack looks at her neck and nods to the shadow of a bruise around her throat. “He do that to you?”

She hurriedly buttons the top part of her shirt. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Doc. I care about you.”

“So does he,” she says, almost defensively. She thinks about Gallifrey. “In his own way.”

“Clearly,” he says flatly and she sighs again, unable to look him in the eyes. They both take a long sip of their drinks and let the silence fill the air between them.

“I can’t help it, Jack. I care for him, too. I always have.” From the first time she held his hand and from the first time she wiped blood off his face. _You’ve killed for him_ , that voice says, and she thinks about all the people who’ve died because of her mercy. _Even then_ , it adds, and she thinks about the bloodied rock in her small, shaking hands as they hauled a little body into the river.

“Another drink?” Jack asks as he finishes his own, placing the glass down.

“Nah,” she says, brushing her hand against the heavy object safely tucked away in her coat, feeling that pull at her core again as she slowly gets up. “I’ve gotta go.” She produces a few notes from her pocket, placing them on the table with a pat. “Lots of things that need fixing, you know?”

He huffs and shakes his head before smiling at her. “Yeah. It was good to see you.”

She lingers almost uncomfortably by the table, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear out of habit. “Bye, then.”

“Bye, Doc. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You know I do, Jack,” she smiles and gives him a small wave. “See you around.” He waves back and looks at her as she leaves the diner.

-

The evening air is crisp and the TARDIS is dark and sulking by the time she gets back.

“Oi, you,” she says as she walks up to the console and gives it a friendly pat, earning a moaning whine like a child whose parents are in a fight. “Cheer up.”

It doesn’t respond.

She sighs. “Fine, have it your way.”

The TARDIS makes a satisfied noise and dims the lights up if only just a little, and the Doctor wanders down the hallways to find the Master.

It doesn’t take her long to find the open door shining light onto the hallway floor. The Master sits on the bed with crossed arms, immediately standing up when she enters the room.

“Where were you?” He asks, sounding worried and angry. 

It takes her a while to respond. “New York.”

“I see. Feeling sentimental, are we?”

“No,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. “Just a… reminder.”

The Master swallows and runs a hand over his face. “I don’t- I don’t know how to be someone you can love, Doctor.”

It’s like the earth shatters with those words. She doesn’t really know what to say.

“I don’t know how to be good for you. I don’t know how not to hurt you.”

The Doctor feels all of time acutely, like it’s in her skin. And sometimes, the Doctor knows that a fixed point in time and space is happening right now.

The Doctor takes a deep breath, and it sounds more like a plea than an answer. “Stay.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Stay. Come see the stars with me.”

The Master stares at her in disbelief. “Aren’t you scared?”

She looks at him with the gentlest hint of a smile spreading into the corners of kind eyes. “Nah. Been through worse. Besides, it’s not the worst that can happen.”

“I wanted to hurt you. And I did.”

“I know,” she says silently, taking a step towards him. 

“All the pain, Doctor. All the hurt. All I know is this burning _anger_. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

She takes a deep breath. “I know.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he says in a dark voice as the Doctor gets closer, flinching as she reaches out her hand to cup his cheek. He wants to bolt and run, shake her off and get her away from him.

She looks up and meets big bloodshot eyes unable to look at her for more than a second. “Prove it,” she whispers, so close to him that he can feel her breath on his skin. He halts as she leans in and presses her lips to his, kissing him softly as she loops her hands around his neck. 

The Master doesn’t move and lets her kiss him, but doesn’t let his shaking hands give in. He craves to touch her and hold her and claw his nails into her and rip her apart. 

Slowly, he pulls away and he looks firmly into those big green eyes that always look so old and so lonely no matter which body they’re in. “No.” She raises her eyebrows and he swallows hard. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Seconds that seem like hours pass as the corners of her mind ebbs to and fro around him like waves against a shore. For some unexplainable reason he lets her and it feels like she’s carefully prodding around his mind and filling all those wrecked cracks inside of him, bit by bit. She leans in again and that burning feeling scorches its way to his fingertips where they hover just above her waist. “ _Prove it_ ,” she says, a little bit louder this time, and he takes a deep breath before finally puts his hands on her and kisses her back.

-

The Doctor trails along the Master’s back, drawing circular patterns and long-forgotten words into his warm skin. He’s always been warmer than her. Still cooler than humans, but warm for a Time Lord. Except for when that resurrection ritual that went wrong and he was literally burning from the inside - feverish to the touch, even for them.

Well, _last_ of the Time Lords now, she reckons, gently tracing the nail of her index finger down his spine. “Say, do you remember back when you had that body with the bleached hair and inferiority complex?”

The Master scoffs without turning around to look at her. “Of course.” He furrows his brows. “Why?”

“You were so warm back then.” The Doctor looks trails her small hands up along his back and the Master doesn’t say anything. “You were burning up.”

“Like a sun,” he says after a while, and it sounds angry, and sometimes she can tell exactly what he’s doing without having to look at him. She knows that right now his eyes are closed and he’s sneering with his mouth closed. The Doctor looks up to the dark ceiling and thinks about the sun she burnt just to say goodbye. She reckons that’s not the only thing that’s her fault.

The Master shifts slightly and he feels very small under her fingertips. “...Why didn’t you press the trigger, Doctor?”

The Doctor’s fingers freeze completely against his skin. Another eternity passes as she feels as though she’s pulled underwater by an enormous wave of grief and rage.

She swallows. “I can’t… kill you.” There’s a silence. “Stars know I’ve wanted to.”

“But _why_?” He asks, so tentatively as he gently turns around to look at her with big tired eyes.

“For the same reason you can’t.” The Doctor swallows and slowly reaches down beside the bed to grab for her coat and yanks it up into the bed. She digs into the pocket and pulls out the metal disk, holding it tight in her hand. “Those three words. It hurts too much.”

She hands him the confession dial. “I don’t even know if I remember when I got it. Or if you remember sending it. Probably a long time ago. You’ve always been so scared of death. But I kept it, all this time.”

He looks at her with genuine curiosity. “For what reason?”

“Just a reminder.”

He smiles and takes the dial, holding it in his hands and feeling the message as the Doctor lies down beside him on her side, looking directly at him.

He looks into her eyes with that sad smile. “Really?”

She smiles back. “Yeah.”

He takes her hands with his, and they lie there as those three words in Gallifreyan sound like a song in their heads over and over until they both drift back to sleep.

-

When the Master wakes up, gently tracing the sheets with his fingers, the other side of the bed is empty.


End file.
